


You Don't Have To Be Lonely This Christmas

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Advent Fic, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Class related anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exams, Graduate School, Hospitals, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roommates, it's non graphic and of course everything turns out okay, just a bit, one chapter with bugs, pulling all nighters when you shouldnt, roommate drama, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Louis knew that it would happen sooner or later. He was struggling, and his roommates weren’t. It only made sense for them to offer his place in the house to someone else.But now, it’s the first of December, and he has less than a week to find somewhere cheap to stay. At least until after the holidays.Enter: an old friend with an old house and a suspiciously empty bed.Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 412
Kudos: 323





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY CHRISTMAS HAPPY CHRISTMAS IT'S ADVENT FIC TIME AGAIN!!!!!
> 
> As _always_ , the title has been taken from the _most important Christmas song of the year_ , [**The Perfect Christmas Single by Scott Mills & his Pigs in Blankets**](https://youtu.be/aIFdJsLRkRM).
> 
> I barely know how this fic is going to play out, so I hope you're ready for... something... 
> 
> WOO thank you, dear reader, for coming on this journey with me. It's snowed overnight and I'm looking at a white world outside my window right now. It's a good start.

_ My dearest acquaintance and friend Christopher, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing today to inform you that I am considering a visit. I know, of course, that the last time I visited, you spent the whole of the evening mocking my appearance and the idea that I will be helpless to fend for myself once I am alone at my flat and my housemate has gotten married, but I can assure you that so far things have been going quite swimmingly. I even managed to successfully prepare a fish from market without having to call in the gardener to put out the fire again. _

_ Although heaven knows I do enjoy the presence of the gardener from time to time.  _

_ Anyways, I shall be arriving at your home by the end of the week, either before or after this letter arrives. Please prepare a room and consider a meal other than fish. As it is all I know how to serve, I have been dining on it… exclusively. _

_ Yours, Scott. _

— 

There’s slush on the ground.

There’s slush covering the road and the grass and dripping down the front steps, it’s  _ everywhere _ and unavoidable, and sure it  _ sort of _ looks like it’s snowing, but all that’s actually happening is the slush is piling up and Louis just keeps slipping and sliding as he hurries to catch the bus to the library. The slush has already hit his ankles and wet through his socks. His trainers are wonderfully waterproof, so he’s going to end up with soaking wet feet for the next six hours of work. 

And oh god, when he has to go into the archive vault, his feet are going to end up blocks of ice. 

It’s a miracle that he manages to catch the bus at all, and that might end up being the highlight of his day, the slush and the cold and the fact that the bus is so crowded that people glare at him just for getting on. Well, his internship is the one thing he has going for him at the moment and he’ll fight everyone here with a toothpick and a lemon before he risks being late. 

In an effort to get some work done, he takes his phone out of his pocket with one hand as he holds onto a railing with the other. He’s got about fifty pages of reading to get done by the end of the day, and papers for three different classes due by the weekend. It feels like his whole life is hanging by a thread, but there’s not much he can do besides just keep working and hoping that he’s doing enough to keep himself afloat. At least Christmas is soon, right? He has to make it past readings and discussions and papers and projects and exams but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, maybe. Someday when he can hope to get more than three hours of sleep and two strategically placed naps while on break at the internship. 

When the bus pulls up to the stop closest to the library, though, Louis realises that he’s so tired he’s basically zoned out of everything he’s read. He pockets his phone with a sigh and stumbles onto the pavement with about half the other riders (exams are coming up, after all, there’s practically a queue for the study tables in the library). 

Louis pulls the hood of his jacket over his head as he slip-slides his way down the footpath to the library, getting hit from what feels like every direction with wet flakes that are more rain than snow. He should be playing Christmas music, he thinks, since it’s officially December now. He just doesn’t feel very festive yet. He feels more like ducking into the archive vault, closing the heavy door and screaming at the top of his lungs, but that’s been a general mood since classes started in the fall. 

Still, entering through the large, heavy double doors of the library and getting hit with the smell of old wood and old books and the beeps of checkout machines and the murmur of low voices at study tables… It’s a balm for the soul. There’s nowhere better than a library.

Peeling off from the crowd of students entering (mostly undergraduates, he can tell), Louis makes his way to the staff stairwell and swipes his card. Swinging the door inward when he hears it unlock, he stands and waits for it to click closed behind him. 

When it does, he’s suddenly shrouded in dim lighting and absolute silence. 

It’s like a whole other world, on this side of the door. Taking the steps down two at a time (they’re rubber and won’t let his feet slide like the cork flooring on the other side), Louis emerges quickly into the basement of the library, where the ceilings are lower and the lights are dimmer and the faces are all familiar ones. His footsteps echo down the hallway, but when he gets to the door to the archives office, swiping his key again and swinging it inward alerts everyone on the other side and he’s met with a chorus of greetings. 

“Hello Oli,” Louis says, shucking off his bag and coat at his own workstation. “Hello Calvin, hi Stan.”

There are large desks at odd angles all over the office, each with multiple monitors and stacks of books and papers in various degrees of organization. There are a few windows on the far wall up near the ceiling that give views of the feet of passing students , and the overhead lights are clinically bright. 

Louis’ workstation butts up against the station belonging to the one other graduate student here on internship — Liam Payne.

“Hello Louis,” Liam says, a smile lighting up his face. “You made it with minutes to spare!”

Louis collapses into his chair. “I sure did,” he says. “And how early were you?”

Liam looks bashful. “I was up on the eleventh floor reading,” he says. “Thought I might as well just get a head start.”

“The fact that you’re not telling me means that you’ve been here more than half an hour,” Louis chides him with a laugh. 

“I didn’t clock in, though!” protests Liam. 

Louis snorts. “That makes it  _ worse, _ Liam.” He hits the power button on his computer and waits for it to boot up. All the computers down here are ancient because the cataloging software the library uses is too expensive to bother installing on newer computers. They’re honestly lucky their monitors are flat screens at this point. 

“Anyway, this is the best part of the project,” Liam says, ignoring that comment. “It’s the day I get to make boxes to fit everything!”

Liam’s working on cataloging and archiving a series of old art projects from the School of Fine Arts. Every project is a different size and shape and material, from some class taught back in the nineties that apparently only recently decided that everything they’d done that year bore enough importance to be stored in the archiving vault forever. 

Louis  _ is _ a little jealous of box-making day. His own archiving project includes six (standard sized) boxes of letters from an obscure author to various of his friends, in what seems to be either a fun sort of snail-mail roleplay or something that he has to report to the police for possible murder evidence. He’s tried googling a few times and is still really not sure which it is. 

“Well if you need any help with the boxes, let me know,” Louis says as his computer screen flickers to life. 

Liam beams at him. That’s what Liam is best at, beaming. “Thanks, Louis,” he says. “I appreciate it.”

Six hours of working in the library basement later, with only one break in the middle long enough for Louis to go up to the ground floor and stand in line for twenty minutes to grab coffee, and Louis is one of the last ones left when he finally clocks out. He moves his little magnet by the door to the spot marked  _ “Out and about, anywhere but here”,  _ and waves to the lone archival worker behind him as he leaves. 

There’s no phone service in the basement, and even the wifi is spotty enough to make it not worth it. That’s why, when Louis emerges to the outdoors where the slush has mostly melted into puddles and the sun has set, his phone immediately pings with a text notification. 

**House Leader Evan:** _ We need to talk _ _  
_ **House Leader Evan:** _ When are you home? _

The whole world turns on its axis a bit as Louis reads those words. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. He knows exactly what the text is about, as much as he might like to imagine he’s wrong. It was only a matter of time. 

Locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket without answering, Louis drags his feet in the direction of the bus stop, six hours of happy busy work archiving letters and helping Liam build boxes gone from his mind.

The bus ride home is too short and too long all at once. 


	2. December 2nd

_ My companion and compatriot Christopher, _

_ I was astounded and, dare I say, disappointed, to learn in your last letter that you have only just come to the realisation that you are able to sit at the end of the bath that does not have the tap. Yes, you are correct, it is much more comfortable. But I worry about you, truly I do, as you are an adult and still are only now coming to such conclusions. _

_ And don’t you patronise me about how I can only make fish! Just yesterday I tried a boiled potato for the first time. I’d say it was entirely edible when I was done with it! _

_ Please send me well-wishes, as I have what my old flatmate would refer to as “man-flu”. I feel like I may perish away this very night (unless of course you were to pay me a visit and bring some of that delectable stew I know your mother made).  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

The house that Louis lives in is taller than it is wide, and fancier than any house of students — even graduate students — needs to be. 

They refer to themselves as “a collective of persons in pursuit of higher education with a central goal to help one another in studies and in personal goals, with an emphasis on community work and creating bright futures through the coming together of every field of learning.”

Is it pretentious? Yes. Was Louis completely in love with the concept when he first tore a slip with a phone number off of a bulletin board on campus? Also yes. 

All twelve people in the house are in graduate school, although all in different fields of study (technically Nicholas and Daniel are both doing something with computer languages, but they swear they are very different things). Every Friday night there is a mandatory house meeting where everybody shares important things they’ve learned from their coursework, and in what way they’ve given back to society, be it through tutoring, volunteering at homeless shelters, helping people at the jobs centre put together CVs… 

And of course, to live in the house, there is a minimum standard of grades that have to be achieved.

Louis can’t say that he hates living there. He’s enjoyed the atmosphere of people wishing to help society, and help one another do better, and having mandatory quiet hours in the front room has been great for his concentration. But on the other hand, it’s been… a lot. And things have been building, one on top of the other, for a long time. 

For starters, the rent isn’t cheap. Everyone in the house gets their own room, and they’re  _ small _ rooms but even so, a house on campus with twelve rooms is a sky-high price, and pretty much everything Louis’ making at his internship is going toward that. 

Then there’s the fact that his volunteer time is nearly nonexistent, between classwork and getting through his internship. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone has to  _ share _ their volunteer experience every week, he’d feel no qualms about filling that category with babysitting his siblings so that his mum can have a night alone once in a while. As it is, he tries to fit in a volunteer shift at the local foodbank when he can, but some weeks he just doesn’t get to it. 

The biggest issue, though, is that his grades are slipping. He’s pretty sure that when classes end this semester he was going to end up with marks low enough to get a stern discussion with the house anyway, so it’s not like the talk with Evan is a  _ total _ surprise, he just didn’t expect them to move so… fast.

He’d been working so hard on his final papers that he’d started to let other things slip, like any sort of hangout time in the house, or his day on the dish wheel (it’s only every twelve days, but usually there are enough dishes that it’s a good hour at least of washing), which meant that he got fined  _ and _ had to do an extra day, and in the end… 

Well. 

“We just think that your space in the house should go to someone who’s really… dedicated,” Evan had said. 

And Louis had nodded along, because maybe that really was it, maybe he just wasn’t dedicated enough. He was overwhelmed with everything because he just wasn’t budgeting his time well. 

“And Sandy has a friend who’s interested. James, you’ve met James, right?”

Louis had nodded, although he hadn’t.

“Well James is in the college of pediatrics, and we all thought that he could really use the room. It’s nothing against you, Louis, it’s just that we’re a  _ serious _ house, and we require commitments.”

Louis had agreed. What was he supposed to say? “You’ve got it wrong, I’m doing my best, please give me another shot”? When he had moved into this house, it had felt like the dream scenario. But now, drowning under all his obligations, this had felt instead like… a chance at freedom.

But also, possibly at homelessness.

Because Evan had asked him to move out by the end of the week. And now, one day later, Louis has been browsing every social media app he can find searching for  _ someone  _ with a spare bed willing to let him move in with three-days-notice. 

For some absolutely  _ wild _ reason, nothing’s really coming up. 

Even at the library, one of his two monitors is open to flat listings. Everything is way too expensive and no one has a moving day before January. 

Louis groans. 

He throws his head down on the table and groans.

(Quietly though, this is still a library).

Liam, across from him, gives him a concerned look. “What’s happened?” he asks.

“The world is terrible and I wish to be a pigeon,” Louis says into the tabletop. “Pigeons make nests.”

“That they do,” Liam says. “They also live outside where it’s cold and are known for shitting on people. I think you’re better off being a human.”

Louis turns his head to make eye contact with Liam. “My roommates asked me to move out,” he mumbles. “I might live outside where it’s cold anyway.”

“Oh,” Liam says, frowning a deep frown. His eyebrows make him look extra concerned. Louis appreciates that. “When do you need to find a new place by?”

“Uh… Saturday?”

Liam’s deep frown gets deeper. Canyon-level deep.  _ “Saturday?” _

Louis groans again, loud enough to disturb some nearby archivists this time. “Evan asked if that was okay and I just said yes! I don’t know! I’m bad under pressure and I’m a people pleaser!”

Liam nods. “I mean, I probably would have said the same thing. But Louis! Where are you going to live?”

“I don’t  _ know,” _ Louis moans. “Might just move in with my mum again and deal with the hour’s commute. I’m sure my sisters won’t mind relinquishing my room. Or I can sleep on the couch.”

“That sounds like a bad option,” Liam says. “If you’re going to be sleeping on a couch, at  _ least _ sleep on mine.”

Louis pauses. “On a scale of one to ten how serious are you about that?” he asks after a moment.

“Well that depends,” says Liam. “Which is the serious end? Ten or one? And what are the parameters, like is one end  _ joking _ or is it malicious lying?”

Louis waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Ten is serious.”

“I think probably a nine,” Liam muses. “I mean, you know I live in a studio, it’s not ideal. But you can crash until you find somewhere decent?”

_ “Yes,” _ says Louis. “Dear God yes, I’ll do anything. I’ll do all your dishes.”

“I do my  _ own _ dishes, thank you,” Liam sniffs. “I’m not a  _ monster.” _

“Liam, have you ever lived with people your own age?”

“Not really, no.”

“Don’t do it. You’ll die of fright.”


	3. December 3rd

_ My least dear acquaintance Christopher, _

_ I did not appreciate you calling at my window last night, as I am sure I made clear. Your need to show up every time you’ve had a night of merriment is becoming a hazard, especially when I have gentleman callers over, not that you ever take that into consideration. Perhaps next time at least stop by to give a warning that you will be showing up three sheets to the wind in the early hours, and I will make sure to have pants at hand for when you start peering in my windows.  _

_ I send my birthday wishes, but also hope you have woken up with a hangover for your trouble. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

All of the slush from the beginning of the week has melted and the roads are dry and clear. The sun is shining and it’s warm enough that all Christmassy feelings are gone from Louis’ heart. He can’t muster up so much as a Christmas carol with warm weather like this. 

Thankfully, there’s a solution; the archive vault. 

“Wish me luck,” Louis says as he stands from his desk, pulling open the top drawer and taking his scarf out. “I’m going to the North Pole to freeze to death.”

Liam looks concerned. “Do you really think it’s that bad?” he asks. “Do you need my coat?”

Why Liam even wore his oversized puffy coat when it’s as warm as it is outside is a mystery to Louis. “No,” he says. “I’m bad with cold but I’m not  _ that _ pathetic.”

Liam does not look as insulted as Louis thinks he should, but that’s fine. It’s good to have a friend who’s hard to insult. 

Taking his keycard, because he  _ has _ locked himself in before, Louis crosses the hallway to the sturdy metal door. It’s thick and heavy and flush with the floor so there’s no hope of the normal library climate getting through. He swipes his keycard and, with effort, pushes it inward.

The archive vault is, as always, freezing. Louis balls up his fists in the ends of his scarf. It’s really, probably, not  _ that _ bad, but the longer he’s in here the more chilly he feels, so he tries to conserve as much heat from the beginning. 

The first time Louis was introduced to the vault, he had been told that the place was climate controlled to keep the materials in good condition, so he hadn’t been that surprised at the temperature. What he _had_ been surprised (and _very_ concerned) about were the large signs everywhere that read, in bold letters, **WATER BUG HERE** with arrows pointing down to little boxes on the ground. Was this library really full of librarians who would catch bugs in little boxes and label them rather than move or squish them? Was _everyone_ entomophobic?

(He learned much later that they were sensors for in case the area started flooding, which was relieving but also less interesting).

Today he’s heading back into the maze of archives looking for the shelf of books by the author whose letters he’s cataloging. This is the first sign he’s seen that  _ Scott, _ as he signs his letters, might not be straight. Suddenly this project feels a lot more interesting. 

A woman crosses through the shelves right in front of him, startling Louis. She waves briefly before disappearing again.

Sometimes he sees other librarians down here in the vault, but never ones he recognizes, which is very confusing because the door is right across from his office. He doesn’t like to talk to them too much.

Halfway down the vault and over four units are Scott’s books. They’re old enough to be considered delicate, but not old enough for special handling, so Louis grabs a bunch of them off the shelf and immediately turns to go back because, yes the temperature gives him feelings of a winter wonderland down here, but his nose is cold. 

He swipes his card to leave the vault (which feels like a safety hazard, you should  _ not _ need to swipe a card to  _ leave) _ and crosses the hallway back into his own office. 

“That was fast!” Liam says with a smile. He’s surrounded by the boxes he started working on earlier in the week, looking like a Christmas elf but with drab manila coloured packages.

“I got cold,” Louis says, placing the stack of books down.

“You should’ve borrowed my coat.”

“It’s not my sort of fashion.” Louis sorts through the stack. Poetry book, poetry book, novella… “All authors should be required to write an autobiography so I don’t have to spend so much work digging,” he complains. 

“But that’s half the fun!” Liam pulls an art project out of a box. It’s green. “This says it’s pizza, and I’m not sure whether it’s supposed to  _ represent _ pizza, or if it’s literally a ten year old slice of what used to be pizza.”

Louis eyes it. “I don’t want to know,” he says. “But I think you should bin it and mark it as a health hazard, just to be safe.”

Liam frowns at the item and slowly puts it down. “You’re probably right,” he says. “You were right about the cheeseburger.”

Louis scrunches his nose. “Why are so many artists so insistent on using food?” 

“Dunno,” says Liam. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with using watercolours. I  _ love _ watercolours.”

“When I come over tonight, is your flat going to be full of them?” Louis asks.

Liam looks bashful. “I only hang up the ones I’m proud of,” he says. 

Technically, Evan had told Louis that he had until the end of the weekend to move out. That being said, Louis has very quickly come to the realisation that he wants nothing  _ less _ than to be back in that house. It feels like everyone is looking at him like he’s a failure. And maybe he is. But the  _ weight _ that has been lifted off of his shoulders at the idea of being somewhere that doesn’t feel like a bootcamp for University Challenge is, simply, so much greater than he could have imagined.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Liam says. “I have a friend coming over tonight. Do you mind?”

“Liam, I’m literally sleeping on your sofa,” Louis snorts. “Your flat, your rules. But even if I was on the lease, I can’t imagine any friend of yours being particularly disruptive. Do you play chess together? That seems like a Liam sort of thing.”

Liam pouts. “We play Fifa, actually,” he says. “I mean… this time we were actually planning on watching a Christmas movie, since it’s December and all. You’re welcome to join!”

“Mmm, depends on the movie,” Louis says, flipping idly through the first book of poetry. “Some Christmas movies are better than others.”

“I was thinking Die Hard,” Liam muses.

Louis looks up at Liam.

Louis frowns very hard at Liam. 

“I don’t have time to tell you all the ways that I don’t accept what you’ve just said,” he tells him.

— 

Louis doesn’t have a lot of belongings at his house, honestly. For the most part they’re packed away in the attic at his mum’s, because his room is so small (and because it’s university — he never planned to live here that long anyway). 

Liam, the star that he is, already offered to help him move. It felt good, walking into his own house with Liam by his side to offer his muscle. Felt like showing off, saying,  _ see, I have friends who aren’t you guys. _

So half of his stuff has been unceremoniously shoved into reusable shopping bags and brought to the other end of campus where Liam’s tiny little flat is. Louis feels a little bad about the amount of room they’re taking up, but he also feels very  _ good _ about how he can simply melt onto Liam’s sofa and not have to worry about what he’s going to tell his roommates that he’s studying.

(He does also need to actually study, but one day off wont make everything that much worse than it actually is). 

He maybe zones out, or maybe dozes off. Either way, he only really becomes aware of things when the doorbell buzzes and Liam bustles through from the kitchenette to unlatch it. 

“Hey,” he says as he opens it. “I have a friend staying over, so we’re going to have to share the sofa.”

Louis sits up just in time to see his friend walk in the door.

And then Liam’s friend sees Louis.

“Louis?” asks said friend, sounding confused.

“Zayn?” asks Louis, feeling confused.

“Ah, did I already tell you?” Liam asks, looking confused. 


	4. December 4th

_ My questionable friend Christopher, _

_ To be completely honest, I didn’t believe that you would actually take me up on that bet. I’m sorry you have been banned from that shop, but in my own defense, I personally would have never shouted about the affairs that take place in the Queen’s bedroom for only twenty pence. Still, I feel guilty so I’ve included two quid. I hope it eases the pain you feel in having to find a new shop to frequent. See, this is why I always pick truth when playing truth or dare. _

_ I shall remember the faces of all the appalled customers with immense fondness, however. _

_ Yours, Scott  _

— 

A little over four years ago, Louis had just started his second year of university. From the very beginning he had known that he was planning on pursuing a graduate degree, so where other students might be doing the minimum to get by in class, he had been doing everything he could to make the most of his study time.

He  _ also _ thought that it was a good idea to get his name in some student organizations, so that he could add them to his application eventually. 

The university he had been at was a little on the small side, and the student organizations included a  _ lot _ of young farmers groups, which Louis was a little interested in checking out, but every meeting that he went to, there was at least one guy who smelled so strongly of cow manure that Louis realised quickly that these were  _ not _ a good match for him. He had delicate sensibilities, after all. 

So he went down the line on the university website, until eventually landing on… The Weather Forecasting Team.

TWFT, an acronym that for some wild reason the organization chose over the use of their full name, was made up of eight individuals on a good day, and more like three on a bad day. It felt like a parody of a nerdy club, if Louis was being honest, but the people he met were genuinely nice and would spend hours debating cold pressure systems and the downfall of the public weather coalition. They rarely, in all his years in the club, actually got the weather right. 

One day, near the beginning of the school year, two new students appeared in the doorway. 

“Hello,” said the girl, walking in with confidence. “I’d like to join, if that’s alright?”

Well of course it was alright, they always welcomed new members. A round of introductions happened, Louis and the five other members that were there. Her name was Doniya, and she was keen to learn. 

The boy with her gave everyone glances that, to Louis, made it look like he did not come willingly. He didn’t give his name until one of the other members prompted him.

“I’m Zayn,” he said, “and I’m just here to make sure you’re not a cult.”

Doniya looked embarrassed. 

Zayn looked like he expected someone to disagree, but instead all he got were confused looks and Louis stifling a laugh.

In the end, Doniya didn’t end up sticking with the organization, but Zayn kept coming back. He said he determined they were not a cult, and also he was rather keen on the deeper discussions about the impact of the privatisation of weather facilities on the common people.

— 

It turns out when Zayn comes over for movie night at Liam’s, he stays the night. 

It turns out when he stays the night, he and Liam share the bed. 

_ And, _ somehow the most shocking to Louis, they share the bed because  _ they’re dating. _

“Liam,” Louis says sternly as Liam very politely shares his bacon and eggs.  _ “Liam, _ how could you not  _ tell me?” _

“You know what, honestly, I thought I had,” says Liam. It’s good that months working together at the library has prepared him to deal with Louis’ emotions. “I guess it just never came up.”

Zayn is still in Liam’s bed, asleep. Or, he might be asleep. Louis has been shouting an awful lot. 

“I thought you were a very bland straight guy!” Louis argues, munching on a slice of bacon. “We could have been talking about gay things!”

“Well now, I think I might still be very bland,” Liam points out. “For instance, I do honestly rather like the colour beige. It’s calming.”

“You are probably going to be a serial killer someday,” Louis says.

“And anyway, this is great!” says Liam, ignoring Louis’ very important statement. “Now we can all hang out! Zayn and I will do art together, and you and Zayn can talk about the weather!”

“Zayn just wants to talk about conspiracies about the weather,” Louis mumbles. The eggs are quite good and his mouth is very full of them.

“Same thing,” Liam says. 

“But considering I’m sleeping on your sofa, for the near future at least that sounds like a great option,” Louis says. “By the way, I also am going to have to move out immediately.”

Liam instantly looks concerned. “Why?” he asks. “Was it very uncomfortable? Too warm? I can turn the heat down.”

“No, Liam,” Louis sighs. “It was actually perfect. Your sofa is very soft and not at all threadbare like a normal student’s sofa is supposed to be. The temperature was perfect and your blankets smell like lavender.”

“Then what’s gone wrong?”

Louis levels him with a look. “Well your flat is very small and your walls are very thin and I do not ever again want to hear what you and Zayn got up to last night.”

Liam looks like he might be sick.

There is faint laughter coming from the bedroom.

“This is also how I know that you’re not nearly as boring as you pretend to be,” Louis says. “I assume you’ve never tried anything vanilla in your life.”

Liam just stares at him, frozen, looking ill. 

Louis would feel bad, but, honestly, it was quite graphic and will haunt his nightmares for years, he assumes.

After an uncomfortable few minutes where Louis has finished his eggs and stolen another slice of bacon off of Liam’s plate, Zayn emerges from the bedroom. His hair is pulled back with a headband but otherwise the only clothing he’s apparently decided to do is a pair of shorts.

“You disgust me,” Louis says.

Liam chokes.

Zayn smiles. 

“I have a solution,” he says, coming up behind Liam and throwing his arms around him. “If you’re interested.”

“Is the solution that you’re going to take Liam to  _ your _ house to tie your knots?” Louis asks.

“Actually, I was thinking the opposite,” Zayn says. “I’ve got a spare bed at  _ my _ house, and you’re in need of a spare bed. We could work things out.”

“It feels like there’s a trap here,” Louis says. “Where’s the trap? Do you live in the sewer?”

Zayn shrugs, ruffling Liam’s hair. “The trap is it’s a little far from campus, it’s a three bedroom and I already have three roommates, and the girl next door hula hoops on our grass for hours.”

“Hours like  _ hours?” _

“Hours like I worry about dehydration hours,” Zayn says.

“She’s quite nice if you talk to her,” Liam points out. 

“She won’t talk to anyone but Liam.”

“Makes sense,” Louis says. “Do you and Liam ever have sex in  _ your _ house?”

“That’s why I come here,” Zayn says. “Three roommates, remember?”

“Hm,” says Louis. “Alright, I think I’m down. Can I get a tour first or do I have to sign without seeing it? Because that feels suspicious.”

“You can get a tour,” Zayn says. “Just let me text everyone to make sure they’re all wearing pants first.”

“Promising,” says Louis. “That’s what I like in my roommates. Pants optional.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A podcast on the future of weather forecasting.](https://99percentinvisible.org/episode/the-weather-machine/)


	5. December 5th

_ My apprentice in life, dearest Christopher, _

_ I believe that congratulations are in order! I will be sure to send a housewarming gift as soon as I am able to pop to the shops. It is quite exciting to have a place of your own, and I’m sure your miss will agree. _

_ That being said, I have heard rumour that your home is missing an essential aspect… This day and age, dear Christopher, a man is expected to purchase a home with a water closet already installed! Why you would have agreed to this with the idea that you would build in a toilet when you have the time… I cannot imagine your miss is too pleased. She will need a powder room! _

_ If you need the funds, I will do you the favour. Just please tell me you are not imposing upon the neighbours when you need to use the loo.  _

_ Yours, Scott. _

— 

The house sits at the corner of two busy roads. It’s a modest size, pale yellow, and looks a little worse for wear. There’s a small front porch with a roof that slants alarmingly down on one side. 

While Louis’ old house was on campus, close enough that Louis could just walk if he missed the bus, this one sits in a neighbourhood with more families than students. Louis waves to a couple out on a walk with their dog as he makes his way up to the front door. 

It’s very awkward knocking on a door that had glass panels all down the middle of it. There are clearly a number of people inside, and Louis tries not to make  _ direct _ eye contact with any of them. First impressions are important, and he does  _ not _ want to ruin this. 

Zayn is the one to get up and open the door. “Louis!” he says. “Come in. Welcome to The Saurus.”

“Thesaurus…?” Louis asks, stepping in the door.

“The Saurus,” Zayn stresses. “It’s what we named our house. See,” he motions to a floating shelf immediately inside the door. There are a number of cheap plastic dinosaurs on it. “The saurii.”

Louis nods. “I see,” he says. “The Saurus.”

The front room that he steps into is only separated by a chest-height wall to the room behind it. From what Louis can see, both rooms are  _ cluttered.  _ The one he’s standing in has a large blue wingback, a loveseat below the window, and a table with three chairs pushed up against the wall. The rest of the space is filled up by bookcases, coat trees, and shoes. 

A lot of shoes. 

There’s one person sitting at the table, and another visible in the next room.

“This is Niall,” Zayn says, motioning to the person at the table. He’s got dark hair that swooshes across his forehead and he’s leaning over a puzzle that has very small pieces and seems to be almost all… white.

“Hello,” says Louis. “I’m Louis.”

Niall smiles at him. “Hey!” he says. “I hear you want to move in!”

“I mean, if you’re not serial killers,” Louis says. There’s a string of Christmas lights that drape over the window behind the table, and they seem to end in a planter shaped like a boot.

“I think it would be unlikely that we  _ all _ would be,” Niall says. “So, you’ve got good odds.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “This is the puzzle table,” he says, motioning to the table Niall is sitting at. “Usually we have a different puzzle every week, but we’ve had this one for a few… months.”

“It’s difficult,” Niall says. “Difficulty nine.”

“Puzzles have difficulties?” asks Louis.

“I don’t think so,” Niall says. “But if they did, this one would be it. We lost the box, so we’re not really sure what the picture is supposed to look like. Just know that it’s a polar bear in the arctic.”

“Ah,” says Louis. “That’s bad.”

“Sure is,” says Niall cheerfully. “I might injure someone soon.”

_ “And, _ moving on,” Zayn says, motioning Louis into the next room. “Niall would not  _ actually _ injure someone because he is actually very kind and works with children and we do  _ not talk about injuring with strangers.” _

He yells that last part over his shoulder, but Niall seems indifferent to his plea.

The living room they’ve walked into has two couches opposite each other. There’s a television that looks like it’s about ten years out of date in an entertainment centre that is filled up with books and cat figurines instead of DVDs. There’s a small Christmas tree on the top, so covered with ornaments that it's taken on a sort of sparkly blob shape more than a tree shape. 

Stretched out along one of the couches is a guy who must be  _ incredibly  _ tall. He’s watching something on his laptop that, when Louis gets a glance at the screen, looks like  _ Elf. _

“Greg,” Zayn says, motioning to him. “This is Louis. Louis, Greg.”

Greg pulls out his headphones. “Hey,” he says, holding out his hand to shake. “You’re the guy who was in that cult Zayn used to go to.”

“The weather club, yeah,” Louis says, shaking his hand.

“Was not a cult,” Zayn points out. “It just seemed like one, because no one joins weather clubs.”

“We all make that mistake,” Greg says. “Who hasn’t joined a few cults?”

“I can’t take you guys anywhere,” Zayn says. He points through the hallway between the couches. “That leads to the kitchen. It’s small and no one’s done dishes so I’m not going to show you because it’s embarrassing. There are two parking spaces out back; we get one and our neighbours get one. I don’t have a car but Greg usually manages to snag that spot because he’s worried if he leaves his truck parked on the road it’ll get towed because people will think it’s junk.”

“True story,” says Greg. “It’s pretty hideous.”

Zayn points to the wall opposite. “We have nice widows, but we can’t ever open them because they look out straight onto traffic at a stop, and we’ve had too many instances of roommates coming downstairs without enough clothing and making eye contact with people in cars.”

“Noted,” says Louis. “A no-pants household.”

“To be clear, Zayn is also part of the problem,” Greg says as he puts his headphones back in. “Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

Louis looks at Zayn with a gleeful expression. 

“I  _ always _ wear pants,” Zayn says. “When I’m downstairs.”

“A terrifying qualifier.”

“Sometimes I forget my towel!” splutters Zayn. “There’s not enough room in the toilet for everyone’s towels!”

Louis nods, trying to look very understanding.

“Don’t give me that look,” Zayn says. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. But be careful — they can be slippery.”

The stairs are steep, and Louis doesn’t  _ really _ notice them being slippery, but he doesn’t question it. There’s a door directly to the right that Zayn knocks on before cracking open. 

“Haz,” he says to whoever is in the room. “You decent?”

“Of course I’m decent,” comes a voice from inside. “Not all of us  _ like  _ being naked,  _ Zayn.” _

“You don’t even own trousers,” Zayn says, pushing the door inward.

There’s someone sitting directly inside the room, in front of a full length mirror propped up against the wall. He’s got an oversized Christmas jumper on, red with a reindeer splashed across it. He’s sitting cross-legged with a curling iron held up in his shoulder-length hair. 

“I prefer leggings,” he argues, looking up at them. Then he looks directly at Louis and Louis feels like his world stops, because this boy is gorgeous. He has perfectly curved lips and hypnotising bold eyes and deft fingers wind his hair in curls around the iron. “I’m  _ not _ weird,” he clarifies. “I just don’t like the feeling of a waistband on my tummy. Dungarees are also acceptable.”

“No, of course you’re not weird,” Louis says. He sort of word vomits it. He would probably agree with anything this boy says. 

“Harry, Louis,” Zayn says, motioning to each of them. “Louis, Harry. This bedroom is Harry, Greg and Niall.”

Louis looks around the doorway a little and finds that it’s not that big of a room. There’s a mattress against one wall that’s absolutely covered in wolf blankets, and against the wall behind Harry seems to be a homemade loft bed, the wood unstained. There’s a mattress on top and a mattress on the floor beneath it. Between the loft bed and the one on the other are two stacks of plastic tubs, the kind that Louis associates with storing things in the cellar.

“Those are all of Greg’s belongings,” Zayn says when he sees Louis looking. “I dunno, he says it’s the best way to keep organized.”

“Right…” says Louis. It looks like a mess, but maybe Greg’s extreme height helps somehow.

“What time do you shower?” Harry asks, startling Louis. “Morning or night?’

“Uh,” says Louis. “Night?”

Harry nods, pulling the curling iron from his hair. “Good. The only other person who showers at night is Niall, and he’s flexible.”

“Oh,” says Louis. “That’s good.”

Zayn snorts. “We only have one bath, so we have to coordinate. Come on, it’s down here.”

Right on the other side of the stairs is a small bath and toilet. The bath is clawfoot and the curtain around it seems to be held up by a terrifying PVC pipe construction. “The sink clogs a lot,” Zayn says. “But we’ve been warned about pouring more chemicals down it because we’re eroding the pipes.”

“Is it hair?” Louis asks. 

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t actually want to know,” he says. 

Down the hall, Zayn pops his head into the next room. It’s the size of a walk-in closet more than a bedroom, and is overflowing with dressers and wardrobes. “This is the room of things,” he says. “We keep our clothes in here, because they don’t fit in our rooms.”

“Smart,” Louis says. 

Zayn motions to about half a metre of space next to the door. “We tried to clear space for you, if you want it. Niall has… a lot of clothes.”

Louis shrugs. He’s flexible. 

Down one more doorway, at the end of the hall, is a room significantly brighter than the others because the blinds are actually open in the windows. There are two lofts in this room, on opposite walls, and room for very little else. There’s only one mattress — below the loft immediately in front of them. 

“This is my room,” Zayn says. “And yours, if you want it.”

Louis frowns, walking into the room. “Why…” he says, trying to articulate a polite way to ask,  _ why are there enough beds for four people and it’s just you? Why are all of the lofts in this house rickety and homemade looking? _

Zayn looks like he knows what Louis is thinking. “I could tell you a sob story about people moving out,” he says. “But the truth is, I just like building things.” he motions to the lofts. “The one down the hall was the first attempt, and this one over here was just last month. I was supposed to share this room with Greg, but it turns out he’s both afraid of sleeping  _ on _ lofts and  _ below _ lofts, so our plan of sleeping on the lofts and having work spaces below them was dashed.”

“Oh,” says Louis. “I mean, that’s  _ kind of _ a sob story.”

“Just a sob story that makes people look into this room and think we’re setting up an orphanage,” Zayn says. 

“It’d be a cute orphanage.”

“It’d be shut down by the government immediately, I’m pretty sure. 

“Yes it would.” Louis walks further into the room and peers out the front window, down at the front step where he had come in. “Wait, is that the hula hooper you were talking about?”

Zayn walks over next to him and peers down. “Yep, that’s her. She’ll be doing that for the next few hours, I assume.”

“Interesting,” says Louis. “I assumed you meant one of those fancy performers who do the videos with like three hula hoops.”

“Yeah nope,” Zayn says. “She just does the one move. But at least she has fun.”  He turns to Louis. “So, you interested in The Saurus?”

“I think I am,” Louis says. “Especially considering you stayed with Liam  _ again _ last night.”

“Yeah, but we were quieter that time.”

“Nope. No you were not.”


	6. December 6th

_ My questionable friend Christopher, _

_ Yes, as I thought, you did not even inform your miss that the house you purchased was without a washroom. I have heard from her, and in a scathing rebuke to your competence she has informed me that you have been using her parents’ residence down the road to relieve yourself. Now Christopher, I believe that I do not have to inform you how poorly this reflects upon you, and I am sure that her parents have had words with her as to her choice in men.  _

_ Still, I am somehow impressed by your sheer audacity. Continue on in that way and I shall have no choice but to include you in my serialisations.  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Louis slept on a bare mattress last night.

Since today is the final day to get his things out of his old house (fuck Evan and everyone else, none of  _ them _ had a weird display of plastic dinosaurs!  _ Their _ house didn’t have a nonsensical name!), he knows he has to go round everything up. But his belongings are scattered; he has a number of things left at that house, and even more at Liam’s flat, and now at The Saurus, all he bothered to bring last night, after scribbling his name at the bottom of a hand-written “rental agreement”  _ (‘I promise to pay rent on time and to attend house meetings when I am available”), _ is a toothbrush, phone charger and pillow.

It was, perhaps, a mistake. The temperature outside has dropped again and the house is a bit draughty, so he ended up pulling a throw blanket off of the sofa downstairs (Greg told him that all of the throw blankets have been around longer than anyone who currently lives in the house, so they’re free game to use at will). The mattress is also from a previous tenant, but honestly Louis suspects it’s nicer than the one he has back at the other house, so he might just keep this one.

He slept on top of one of the lofts in the front bedroom (the one Zayn says is the newer one and therefore his best work), and honestly the only issue he has with it is that as soon as he woke up, he sat up and hit his forehead directly against the ceiling. 

So like, besides that it’s great. 

Zayn, on the other hand, sleeps beneath the other loft, so Louis has a good view of his sleeping form (he looks away quickly, because that’s an impolite thing to do — stare at a roommate while they sleep). 

Checking his phone, the time reads 9:18. Louis would really rather drift off for another three hours or so, but it’s Sunday. He has to get his stuff moved and he has to get his classwork done. He’s been neglecting it a fair amount this week, what with everything going on, and it’s starting to sit like a dark reminder in the back of his mind.

The first order of the morning, though, is how to get off of the top of the loft. There’s no ladder or stairs, just some cross beams that hold it together. Eventually Louis manages to swing his legs over the side and lower himself as far as his arms will go, and drop the rest of the way.

The  _ thud _ that sounds when he hits the ground is significant, but Zayn doesn’t stir. 

Tiptoeing out into the hallway, the far bedroom’s door is closed but the room where all of the dressers and wardrobes are is open, filling the small hallway with light. Louis glances in on his way to brush his teeth and sees— 

_ Harry. _

He’s standing in front of one of the dressers, a large blue Christmas jumper that hangs to his thighs covered in sparkly snowflakes. It looks like he’s pulling a pair of leggings out of the drawer in front of him. 

Louis speeds up the walk to the loo, his cheeks heating up. Harry was technically  _ decent, _ his jumper more than long enough, but Louis feels like he accidentally walked in on someone in the shower or something. Yesterday he spent most of the evening, after going back to Liam’s to retrieve a pillow and toothbrush, on the sofa playing Mario Kart with Greg and Niall, because Niall apparently has every Nintendo system made. He saw Harry from time to time, though, with hair down to his shoulders in gentle curls and a contented smile on his face as he went into the kitchen and spent a good few hours making a lasagna. 

“It’s the best food,” he had told Louis as he leaned in the doorway waiting for the timer to go off. “And you can have some, but I forgot to add noodles in the bottom half so it might be really terrible.”

(It wasn’t terrible, it was delicious).

“Just wait until he makes caramelised brussel sprouts,” Greg had said. “Harry’s about the best cook I’ve ever met.”

“You grew up on ready meals, so you don’t have a good pool to pull from,” Harry had pointed out.

So, Harry enjoys cooking and he likes large jumpers because he hates waistbands and Louis is terribly endeared. As he brushes his teeth above the sink (which has standing water in it from someone before him), he thinks about how bad of an idea it would be to try to date someone he lives with. That would be bad, right? 

When he heads downstairs, he finds the floor empty and quiet. In the kitchen are a slew of dirty dishes; on the hob and on the counter and in the sink… It’s a wonder there’s any left in the cabinet. 

Having moved out of a house where the dishes had to be done every night according to the dish wheel, he’s struck by the relative disorganization of this house — and thinks that maybe this is one way he can say thank you for letting him move in on such short notice (seeing how cheap rent is going to be, he’s pretty sure it’s not because they needed the money). 

Liam had told him he can come help move things around ten, so Louis runs the tap and gets started, thinking he’ll do dishes until Liam shows up and then force him to drive Louis to Starbucks for breakfast. 

He’s pleasantly zoned out from the repetitive task when, suddenly, someone is  _ right _ behind him.

_ “Hey,” _ says Greg, startling Louis into dropping a pot into the sink.  _ “Hey, _ those aren’t your dishes!”

Louis turns around, a hand to his heart. “I know,” he says defensively. “I just thought it might be nice!”

Greg goes from looking concerned to grinning. “Well, it is!” he says. He’s wearing red plaid pyjama pants but no shirt. “But you need to get your stuff, right?”

“Oh, I mean, yeah but Liam’s going to be here in a bit to help,” Louis says. He’d look at his phone for the time but his hands are all sudsy. 

“Well tell him we’ll pick him up,” Greg says. “I have a truck and four hours of free time. Come on!”

“Oh,” says Louis. “Uh. Okay.”

He dries his hands and follows Greg, who is already halfway out the back door. 

The truck looks like it’s been through hell and back. It was white at one point, but is more rust than paint. Still, it’s got an empty bed in the back and Greg seems  _ very  _ ready to help so Louis climbs in after him.

“Avoid the hole,” Greg says, pointing to Louis’ feet where there is an honest-to-god hole straight through the floor to the pavement below the truck.

“Right,” says Louis. “The hole.”

He stares in fascination through the hole as Greg backs the truck out onto the road. It’s not a hole large enough for him to fall through, but he could easily lose a shoe. Or his phone.

Greg knows the way to Liam’s house, and Liam seems like he expects this sort of thing, sliding easily into the middle seat when they get there. In some way, Louis feels empowered. Like Zooey Deschanel in  _ New Girl _ when she goes with her new roommates to get her stuff from her ex-boyfriend. 

Sure, the reality is the people in his old house probably simply don’t care about him. But having an extremely tall guy with a truck and a buff guy who loves beige by his side makes Louis happy. 


	7. December 7th

_ My somewhat concerning friend Christopher, _

_ I know that you would like to consider yourself quite a patron of the arts, yet I do wonder if you have quite the body for a life drawing instructional? The artists of today have high tastes, and I have seen you in your undergarments before. Are you sure that they asked you to act as model? Or were you perhaps mistaken? _

_ Either way, I shall look forward to the end result. Please, if an artist shares his work with you, send one on to me. I would take great joy in presenting it above the mantle to every guest who enters. I can use it to do off with some of my less reputable gentlemanly callers. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Louis’ alarm goes off much too early in the morning. He has to get to his internship, and today is a full eight hour day, but on top of all that he’s not entirely sure how he’s going to get there.

Zayn doesn’t stir as Louis hops down from his loft, and Louis starts to wonder if Zayn has a job or attends classes. He’s forgotten to ask, all he knows about his new roommates is that Niall works in a nursery, and Greg claims to be on his fifth gap year.

The sun hasn’t yet peeked over the horizon, as the windows are still pitch black, but Louis can tell by the feeling of his feet hitting the floor that it’s got to be cold outside. 

He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and grabbing clothes out of his partially-unpacked bags in the dressing room, and makes his way downstairs, trying to figure out on his phone the quickest way to campus. He was up late finishing discussion posts for class last night, and didn’t end up even thinking of working this out.

Rounding his way into the kitchen, he almost immediately runs into Harry.

Harry seems to be an early riser, is what Louis is learning. 

“Oh hello,” says Harry. “You’re up early!”

“So are you,” Louis says, leaning back against the doorway and trying to look cool and casual. This house doesn’t quite feel like  _ his home _ yet, so he feels a little awkward in trying to act normal around roommates… especially Harry.

“You work at the library, right?” Harry asks. He’s stirring a pot of white rice on the hob with a wooden spoon. “The one at the heart of campus?”

“Right, yeah,” says Louis. “Well, I intern. They do pay me, though, so I assume that counts!”

“I’m leaving in five minutes,” Harry says. “As soon as my rice is done. I’m going to be out on West Campus, but I take the bus that goes down Main Street right by the library, if you want to walk with me?”

“Oh,” says Louis, feeling his heart thud in his chest. “I mean yeah, that’d be great! I was going to look it up on Google Maps, thought I might have to get an Uber.”

Harry frowns. “Oh god no,” he says. “That’s much too expensive. I mean, it’s a bit of a walk down to Main Street but getting an Uber every day is going to cost you more than you probably make at the library.”

He’s not wrong. 

“I’d love to walk with you then,” Louis says. “Just let me grab my bag.”

It’s a crisp, cold day but the sun is bright in a cloudless sky. Harry leads them out the back door after slipping his feet into some black boots with a slight heel. He’s got a satchel slung over one shoulder and is carrying a tupperware of the white rice he was cooking. The lid to it is sticking out of the front pocket of his satchel, and he’s brought a fork. 

“Rice for breakfast?” Louis asks. He didn’t think to even make breakfast, figures he’ll get something from the cafe on the ground floor.

“Buttered rice,” Harry answers, looking proud of his life choices. “I don’t really like eggs. Or meat. Fish is okay, but the farming practices of things like salmon are so bad for mercury levels.”

“Oh,” says Louis, not really knowing what mercury levels are.

“Yeah, so I don’t really like the things that make up breakfast food, so for a long time I didn’t even eat breakfast. But I learned recently that you don’t actually have to eat breakfast food for breakfast!” He holds up his tupperware excitedly. “Now I have buttered rice. Or buttered noodles. Sometimes cold pizza or lasagna!”

“That makes sense,” says Louis. “It does smell delicious.”

“Thank you, it’s really good because it doesn’t have a weird texture,” Harry says, taking a forkful. “All eggs have a weird texture, no matter how I’ve tried to cook them.”

They’re walking down a mostly residential neighbourhood, the pavement slightly winding in the way pavements do in neighbourhoods that were built with no purpose, just houses planted this way and that as fancies struck. 

There are Christmas decorations on a fair amount of the houses they pass; wreaths and garlands and one tree with oversized ornaments on it swaying in the frigid breeze. There are a number of young children crossing the road as they make their way past a larger traffic circle and looking down to his left, Louis sees what must be a primary school.

“Isn’t that cute?” Harry asks, and Louis looks up to see a wide smile on his face. “They have a nativity play every year that’s open to the public, so we went last year. Never seen so many sheep in a nativity play before.”

“Is that right?” Louis asks, grinning just thinking about it. “How long have you guys lived here then?”

“Coming up on three years.” Harry takes another bite of his rice. “I moved in when I started my graduate program, with Niall and Zayn and a couple others who have gone off and gotten married. Greg moved in last year.”

“Graduate program?” 

“Soil sciences,” Harry says. “I mean, with a focus on water. They go together, really.”

“Thus knowing about fish farming?”

“Pretty much, and also having many unwarranted opinions on rewilding. If you want, I can probably talk about that for a good eight hours.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis laughs. 

“And yours is library sciences, right?” Harry glances at him as he steers the both of them a street over. 

“Right, library and information science. A jarring combination of spreadsheets and computing with customer relations skills. My internship is in the archiving department of the library, I’m working on making these old letters from a writer accessible and searchable in the system.”

“Anyone I’ve heard of?” Harry asks, taking another bite.

“No one  _ I  _ had heard of,” Louis says. “But all the letters I have were written from him to one particular guy, who must have thought he was going to be important since he saved them all in good condition. I get the feeling from reading them so far that he was gay and very open about it.”

He looks for Harry’s reaction and feels a lightness in his heart when Harry looks excited about that. “Were they love letters?”

“No, almost the opposite,” Louis says. “Pretty much all of them are him mocking his friend for something or other. I don’t know what his friend writes back, but I hope he’s able to keep the banter up because otherwise I feel  _ quite _ sorry for him.”

Harry laughs. “That’s delightful though!” he says. “Imagine getting insulted over and over again and deciding you need to keep them all, just in case.”

Louis laughs too. “That’s exactly what happened!” he says. 

At the end of the road they cross just as the bus is pulling up. It’s not particularly crowded, thankfully, and he takes a seat near the door with Harry sitting down gingerly next to him.

“This is good,” Harry says. “It’s often more crowded, but I’m  _ so  _ bad at standing on buses. Just topple right over into anyone nearby.”

Almost as if to illustrate his point, the bus stops at a light and Harry, even though he’s sitting down, immediately falls into Louis. 

“Oh my god, right, I’m  _ so _ sorry,” he says, righting himself. “Like I said, no sense of balance.”

“Totally fine, happens to the best of us,” Louis says, and hopes Harry doesn’t notice how red he’s sure his face is. 


	8. December 8th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A Note from me, your local advent author.
> 
> Dear reader, if you have the time, I would like you to take a moment and know that I love you. Whether you are reading these chapters as I write them, or as a completed whole at the end of the season, or at any point in the future. Know that I think of you and I hope that you are well. I hope that these bring you a bright spot, that they make your day a little easier. 
> 
> This is a dark month and a dark year, but know that I am actively, consciously thinking of you, dear reader. I am hoping that even in times such as these, with whatever you're facing, that you will come out of everything alright. 
> 
> But even those things that you have come out of with an injury, your head or your heart or your body or your soul, know that I am thinking of you too. I am sending you my love. I wish I could wrap you up in a blanket and give you a comforting drink and a pleasant candle and a shoulder to cry on, but even though I can't, because we are doubtlessly far away, know that you reside in my heart. 
> 
> In unrelated news, the events in this chapter happened my _very first night_ after moving out of my childhood home. Also maybe keep that in mind.

_ My sorry friend Christopher, _

_ I know that you borrowed my suit for that wedding in the spring, and YOU know you borrowed my suit for that wedding in the spring. So we are on the same page, surely, that you still, in your possession, have my suit, are we not?  _

_ If I am to attend your wedding, I shall need a suit to do so in. Surely you are not trying to keep it so that you may wear it to your own wedding? I daresay your miss would find that unfashionable.  _

_ Come on now, I’ve been asking it back for nearly two months now. Surely you can bring it when we next meet? I won’t even complain when it’s all wrinkled.  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

They’ve put up the Christmas tree in the atrium of the library. 

It’s at least two storeys tall, covered in red and gold baubles and yellow twinkling lights. The tree itself is clearly fake, too perfectly cone-shaped and fluffy, but Louis loves it regardless. He comes up from the ground to the first floor now when he has his coffee during breaks, to look at the tree and think about Christmas (and his birthday!) and how close they are. 

He’s got the internship until spring, but this particular project is supposed to be done by the end of the year. He’s not sure how much he needs to rush — it feels like he’s buried waist-deep in correspondence (and the occasional shopping list) — but nothing feels as good as a catalogue neatly assembled and easily searchable. 

Liam has moved on to another set of art exhibitions, these ones slightly older. There are huge storage rooms in the library absolutely overflowing with things yet to be archived, because no university understands the idea that possibly their students do  _ not _ create the most amazing work. Some of these art displays are, as far as Louis is concerned, frankly hideous. 

He takes the bus home after six, well after the sun has set. If he weren’t in the middle of campus he might be able to see stars, but as it is all he can see is his breath. When he gets off at the stop that Harry showed him previously, the long walk uphill is daunting, and by the time he’s made it up the winding residential roads he’s chilled to the bone. 

Unlocking and coming in the back door, though, he’s hit with warmth and light and a wall of noise. 

“We are  _ solving _ this problem today, lads, I can tell you that much!” That’s an unfamiliar voice. Louis walks through the kitchen with caution.

“The landlord said we couldn’t use any more Mr. Muscle because it hurts the pipes.” That’s Harry’s voice.

“This is  _ better,” _ says Niall. “Look at this stuff! Lewis ordered it especially for us.”

“It looks  _ worse!” _

Louis finds, in the living room, Harry and Niall and one other person, with sandy blond hair and a grin on his face.

“Ah, Louis!” Niall shouts when he sees him. Harry looks up too and his expression looks pained. 

“Yeah hi,” says Louis. “What’s going on?”

“Lewis — this is Lewis — Lewis brought us Liquid Crystal!” Niall holds out the container. It has all sorts of warnings on it and an illustration of glowing crystals. 

“Okay,” says Louis. “For the… sink?”

“For the sink!” Lewis cries, clearly proud. “It’s the best stuff there is! Even my toilet unclogged after I used this stuff!”

“Alright, okay,” Louis says.

_ “No,” _ Harry wails. “It’s a terrible idea! This stuff can burn you! We could seriously injure a plumber!”

“Lewis can do any future plumbing for us,” Niall says, pointing his thumb at Lewis. 

“Is Lewis… a plumber?” Louis asks, looking to him.

“Nah, but I’ve got youtube,” says Lewis. 

Harry groans miserably. 

“Come on, Haz, it’ll solve all our issues! I  _ know _ you hate that clogged sink.”

“I don’t approve of this,” says Harry, crossing his arms. 

“It’s a vote, three against one,” Niall says.

“I didn’t vote,” Louis points out, just as Greg walks in the front door.

“Greg!” shouts Lewis. “Liquid Crystal!”

“Are we doing drugs?” Greg asks.

“Pouring them down the drain like the good boys we are!” Lewis shouts back. “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

So apparently it doesn’t really matter what Harry thinks of the issue, as Lewis, Niall  _ and _ Greg all make a beeline for the stairs. They rampage up them like a small pack of elephants, Greg slipping on one stair and falling against the wall before he continues in haste.

Louis stands there in the aftermath with Harry, who’s grimacing.

“Should probably make sure nothing terrible is happening,” Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “I know.” He starts to follow. “This is  _ so _ bad for the water system.”

Upstairs, Louis stands in the doorway with Harry as Greg and Niall flank Lewis, who has carefully unscrewed the Liquid Crystal. When he begins to pour it, it’s a dark purple sort of shimmery colour that Louis actually finds sort of disturbing. 

“That looks like Halloween paint,” he says. 

“Because it’s  _ magic,” _ says Lewis. 

He pours it all in and it sits in the basin of the sink for a while, the drain too clogged to let it flow easily. Greg, Niall and Lewis stand around it intently, watching it like three witches over a brew. Harry grimaces. 

“Ooh, there are bubbles coming up, it’s working!” cries Niall with excitement. 

“It  _ is _ magic,” Greg says in awe. 

“Told you guys,” says Lewis triumphantly.

The sink clears, slowly, but when it does there’s an audible gurgling as the Liquid Crystal flows down the pipes. 

“Let’s see, now we flush it with hot water,” Lewis says, reading the back of the bottle. 

_ “Slowly,” _ Harry shouts from the hallway. Louis, still standing next to him, feels like it’s not quite safe to actually be  _ in _ the room with them. 

Lewis does not turn the tap slowly, it’s more of a gushing, but thankfully nothing splashes out. The water runs clear and straight down the drawn, not pooling in the basin at all.

Greg and Niall let out a cheer.

“See, lads? What’d I tell you?” Lewis says, clearly quite proud, his hands on his hips. 

The celebrations don’t last long, though. Only moments after Lewis turns back off the water, a sort of groaning emanates from the pipes. A gurgling, and a cracking.

And suddenly, black sludge starts seeping up the drain into the sink. 

_ “Hoh shit,”  _ shouts Greg, jumping back.

“Ah lads,” says Lewis. “Ah no.”

The groaning and the gurgling continue and Harry leaps forward into the room. “The bath,” he says, pointing to the claw footed tub on the other end. Sure enough, out of the drain of the tub a black sludge is also beginning to appear. 

“That’s bad,” says Niall. “No one tell the landlord.”

“It’s fine,” Lewis says, going for something like reassuring. “Just the crystal doing it’s thing, probably. I’m sure this is just part of the process.”

They stand and stare as the black sludge continues to seep.

It’s very slow and goes on for a while.

Eventually, when the entire floor of the tub is covered as well as about half the sink, it seems to stop.

“Excellent,” says Niall. “It’s not going to flood the house.”

“I don’t think you can promise that,” says Harry. 

“I can!” says Lewis. “Definitely not going to flood.”

“Lewis, I’m so sorry, but your opinion is simply not worth that much weight right now,” Harry says to him.

“That’s fair.”

“So I guess I’m… not going to shower tonight,” says Louis.

“Perhaps not,” Greg agrees. “So… if we don’t call the landlord, who  _ do _ we call?”

“Nobody,” says Niall. 

“I have a mate—” says Lewis.

“No,” says Harry.

Faintly, the noise of the door downstairs slamming shut echoes through the house.

“Zayn! Zayn will know what to do!” Niall sticks his head out of the room and yells almost directly in Louis’ ear. “Zayn!”

“I’m coming,” comes Zayn’s faint and tired voice. He takes his time coming up the stairs, and when he turns the corner and sees Lewis, he stops. “Oh no,” he says. 

“Zayn!” shouts Lewis. 

“What’d you let him do?” Zayn asks. 

“Poured chemicals down the sink,” tattles Harry. “Ruined the water filtration system, probably.”

Zayn looks at the sink. He spots the sludge. 

“Right,” he says. “I’m making dinner, and I’m eating dinner, and  _ then _ I’m coming back to this.”

“Thank you Zaaaaayn,” Niall says.

“Thank you Zaaaayn,” Greg says.

“Thank you Zaynie,” Lewis says.

Zayn points at him. “You’re on thin ice,” he says. “I remember the catfood incident.”  


— 

The drain snake that Zayn produces from the cellar gets chemical damage from the black sludge, but at almost three in the morning the sound of it all gurgling back down the drains echoes through the whole house. 


	9. December 9th

_ Christopher, _

_ No.  _

_ You cannot tell me that you have DONATED my best suit to charity! You use the word “accidentally”, but donation is quite a purposeful thing! What have I done to make you behave toward me in this way?  _

_ Christopher I shall show up in your wedding wearing nothing but a vest and pants at this rate. You tell me this NOW? Your wedding is almost upon us and you wait until I ask about the location of my suit to inform me that you have given it to the poor! I’m sure some bloke will take to it with pride and I am quite happy for him, but with YOU, dear Christopher, I am TERRIBLY disappointed.  _

_ And do not offer to lend me any of your suits, as they are all terribly mended. I am sure your miss will be better with a needle and thread than you are, but even for a bachelor your hands are exceedingly clumsy. I’ve seen your work. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

**The Sauruses Are Fightiiiiiiing : Whatsapp Group**

**Niall:** _ House meeting! _ _   
_ **Niall:** _ Tonight! _

**Zayn:** _ Just like every week, you mean _

**Niall:** _ Louis is NEW HERE and maybe he DOESN’T KNOW _

Louis did not know. The messages are flooding his phone now that he’s come up to the ground floor from the archiving department. 

**Harry:** _ TheSaurus House Meeting at 11pm. Please come prepared with questions or concerns. I will bring bread. _

**Greg:** _ HARRY’S BRINGIGN HIS BREAD _ _   
_ **Greg:** _ YES HARRY WITH THE GOOD BERAD _

**Niall:** _ I am also bringing out Catan for anyone who wants to royally fuck up their sleep schedule _

**Greg:** _ What sleep schedule _

**Niall:** _ Exactly _

That’s the end of the thread. House meeting at eleven at night? The idea of having a house meeting so late is just so… ridiculous, to Louis. He wonders whose idea that was. 

He also thinks he should get another coffee for the bus ride home, then.

— 

Niall is working on the polar bear puzzle when Louis gets home. It doesn’t seem any more completed than the last time Louis glanced at it.

“So,” Louis says, trying to act casual. “Eleven at night?”

Niall looks up. “Yeah,” he says. “Everyone’s got weird schedules. It was the only day and time of day guaranteed we could all make it.”

Louis nods. “The  _ only _ time?” he asks.

“Well.” Niall leans back. “Harry suggested five in the morning, the response was much more negative.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Louis says. “Alright, eleven it is, I guess. I’m going to… take a nap, then.”

“Good plan.  _ Or _ you can help me with this puzzle.”

Louis takes another look at the puzzle.

It’s  _ very _ white.

“I’m not going to do that,” he says. 

The living room is empty, but at the top of the stairs Louis finds Harry in his doorway, sitting on the floor in yet another oversized Christmas jumper and navy leggings, a textbook in his lap.

“Hello,” says Harry. “Oh, are you alright with basil? Rosemary?”

“Uh,” says Louis. “Yes?”

Harry’s hair frames his face in graceful ringlets.

“Good,” says Harry. “I found some baguettes on markdown.”

“Oh,” says Louis. “That’s good.”

Harry looks very tired, but also very soft and comfy. 

“I’ll bring them tonight,” says Harry.

“Right, yes, I do like bread,” says Louis. He’s not very good at saying things right now, apparently.

“Good,” says Harry, and he smiles very wide.

So at least even while Louis is not good at conversing, Harry seems happy enough with his answers.

Louis naps for a good three hours, waking up in a total confusion when his alarm goes off in a pitch black room, the only light coming from a streetlight outside.

He stumbles downstairs, to where the living room isn’t too much brighter. Squinting, Louis realises there are… candles? On about every flat surface. 

“You made it,” says Greg, shuffling toward Niall on one sofa and patting the empty space on the end. “Good!”

“Welcome to house meeting,” says Niall.

Zayn is sprawled across the other sofa. He does not attempt to offer Louis space, but he does wave.

Louis takes the spot next to Greg just as Harry comes bustling in, a large tray of baguette slices in his hands. 

“I tried some new things with the oil,” he says. “Let me know if they’re absolutely terrible.

The second he sets the tray down on the coffee table, Niall and Greg descend upon it like animals, grabbing slices of baguette and submerging them in bowls of dark liquid that Louis assumes is the oil Harry was talking about. 

Harry takes a seat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, grabbing one piece of bread, neatly dipping it and handing it behind himself to Zayn as Greg and Niall make obscene sounds of pleasure stuffing their mouths with bread. 

“This is why I can’t serve bread when friends come over,” Harry complains weakly. 

Louis leans forward and grabs a piece to dip for himself. Whatever herbs are in the oil do smell incredible. 

“Listen Harry Snacks are the most important part of the meeting,” Niall mumbles with his mouth full. 

Louis leans back on his corner of the sofa, taking a bite. Niall and Greg  _ do _ have a point, this does already beat any house meetings from the last house. But he has to know; “Why the candles?” 

“Mood lighting,” says Niall.

“Ambiance,” says Greg. 

“The fluorescent lights are too bright for this time of night,” Harry says. “And we have a whole box of candles that someone down the road had put next to their bin once.”

“That was a good day,” says Niall. He grabs another piece of bread. “Right! It’s house meeting! First order of business; do we have a first order of business?”

“Executive decision to ban all use of Liquid Crystal,” says Harry immediately.

“I don’t regret it but I  _ do _ see your point.” Niall points to Zayn. “Do we need to compensate you for the drain snake?”

“Yes,” says Zayn. “It’s literally in pieces.”

“Deal.” 

“Second order of business,” says Greg. “I found a ceramic heart in the forest today. Can I add it to the dinosaurs?”

“That was definitely a geocaching prize that you stole,” Harry says. 

“Still don’t know what geocaching is, but now I have a ceramic heart,” says Greg. “And that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I vote no organs with the dinosaurs,” says Niall. “Anyone seconded?”

Harry and Zayn raise their hands.

“Sorry Greg, put it back in the forest where it belongs.”

“Not gonna bother,” says Greg. “I’ll figure out something to do with it.”

“Terrifying. Next order of business?”

House meeting is almost over, within half an hour, when all the bread is gone and the oil is mostly sopped up and Zayn has started dipping his fingers in the candle wax. 

“Final order and everyone’s dismissed,” Niall says, making a sweeping motion with his arms. “Louis Tomlinson has not been initiated.”

“Oh no,” says Louis. “Do I need to be?”

“Yes,” says Greg. “Friday night?”

“Friday night?” echoes Niall.

“I get out of class at seven,” says Harry.

“I’ll be here,” says Zayn.

Everyone looks at Louis expectantly.

“I mean,” he hedges. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” crows Niall. “Friday night! Whenever Harry gets home! Louis Tomlinson House Initiation!”


	10. December 10th

_ Christopher, _

_ I trust you to agree that we will never speak of what transpired last night at your stag party.  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Since Louis had taken that long nap the night before, he ended up staying up for quite a while after House Meeting eventually ended to work on classwork. The three classes that he’s taking at the moment all have their own assignments and projects coming due soon, and exams on top of that to prepare for. In the end he gets  _ much _ less sleep than he would have liked, and rolls out of bed in the morning before the sun is up, ready to make an entire pot of coffee in the hopes of waking himself up.

Or actually, no. He should just buy Starbucks. Get a quadruple shot in something. 

Dragging his feet down the stairs, he finds, as usual, that Harry has beaten him downstairs.

He’s wearing the same jumper he was wearing last night — maroon with a three dimensional wreath on it — and his usually nicely done up curls are pulled back into a tight bun. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against a sofa, laptop in his lap.

“Morning Harry,” Louis says, stifling a yawn. “Sleep much?”

Harry jumps a little and looks at him owlishly. “I don’t sleep on Wednesday nights,” he says. “Don’t have time for that.”

“Uh,” says Louis. “Like, ever?”

“No, I have too much to get done. Almost all of my classes have a session on Thursday and they always have assignments due, and with House Meeting as late as it is on Wednesday nights, I’ve worked out that it’s easier to have a scheduled weekly all-nighter instead of staying up later every other night of the week.”

“That’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” says Louis. “And sounds like torture.”

“It’s not if you don’t think about it,” argues Harry. The circles under his eyes are very dark. “As long as I pretend nothing’s wrong it works out fine.”

Louis nods, pursing his lips. “Are you coming to campus this morning?” he asks.

“Oh yes!” Harry jumps up and the laptop slides to the floor. “Yes let me just find… shoes….”

He’s wearing thick fuzzy socks with reindeer on them, which are hidden only slightly when he slips on a pair of dirty white Keds. “Okay, I’m good.”

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground when they leave out the back door, just enough that on a normal road would make things a little quieter feeling, but on the busy road they live on it just adds a bit of holiday spirit. 

Harry’s Keds clearly have no tread on the bottom, and he slips a little every few steps, putting his arms out and catching Louis in the stomach more than a few times. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “My boots were upstairs.”

“It’s fine,” Louis says just as Harry slips straight into him and Louis has to keep them steady. “I mean, it feels dangerous but better to fall into me than to fall into the road.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad,” Harry agrees. “I will try my best.”

His ‘best’ almost knocks Louis over less than a block later, and Louis, without thinking, does what he always does with his sisters and grabs ahold of Harry’s hand. 

“Uh,” Louis says. 

“Oh,” says Harry. 

“To keep your balance,” Louis says.

“Right,” says Harry.

Harry does keep sliding, but he’s decently more coordinated with one hand firmly in Louis’. 

Louis would try to keep up a conversation, but Harry is clearly lost in his own world, probably because of the whole  _ scheduled all-nighter _ thing. Ridiculous. Louis thought that he himself took on a lot in terms of classwork, but if he ever had to schedule weekly all-nighters, he’d definitely just end up dropping a class.

The bus ride isn’t much better, with Harry practically falling asleep on Louis’ shoulder (not that he minds), and when they get off, Louis makes Harry promise that he’s going to get coffee before he goes to class. Harry clearly needs the caffeine even more than Louis does.

_ Technically _ no food or drink is allowed in the archiving office unless it’s in a completely sealed container. Louis’ large coffee with two espresso shots in is not sealed, but he sure as hell isn’t chugging it, so he sneaks it below his desk when he comes in. 

“Louis!” Liam shouts from the other end of the room when he comes in, arms full of materials to create boxes and folders. “Louis, I need your opinion.”

“Hold on,” Louis says, bending down to take a quick gulp from his coffee. Hmm. Later he should also follow this up with food. “What’s so urgent?”

“I don’t know.” Liam throws all of his materials down onto his desk opposite Louis’. He’s frowning. “I’m just… not sure whether this is an art piece or… something else.”

“Worrying,” says Louis. He opens his current box of letters, but doesn’t sit down. “Where is it?”

“The project table,” Liam says, motioning. The project table is the extra large, sturdy, square table at the far end of the office, the one that’s best for unrolling large things like posters or documents that need flattened.

Liam leads him over, looking especially nervous.

“What, is it a dead body?” Louis asks, half joking.

“Well,” says Liam.

_ “If it’s a dead body you have to tell me before I look at it,”  _ Louis says, planting his feet.

“Not a dead body!” Liam hastens. “Or like. It could be nothing! It’s not human. I know it’s not human.”

“Why on earth did I decide to be a librarian,” Louis mutters, following him again.

The table is stacked high with all of the art pieces that Liam’s been working on for weeks now. He leads Louis around to the other side and points to the corner of the table.

There is…  _ Something _ there. It’s grey-ish or maybe brown-ish and detailed and possibly furry. It looks like something that’s been drowned, brought back to life, and dropped in mud.

“Do you have the nameplate for it?” Louis asks, wary of getting closer to it.

“Yeah, it’s in the card box,” Liam says, picking up a box and handing it over. Louis takes it and flips through the cards inside, looking for the number 19 that’s printed on the piece of paper below the… whatever it is.

He pulls out the card and squints at the writing. “Liam,” he says. “This is not roadkill.”

“Oh thank god,” Liam says. “Wait, is it worse?”

“Louis hands the card over to him. It reads  _ Death of an Electronic Friend. _

“Liam,” he says. “I think it’s a Furby. Someone's killed a Furby for an art project."


	11. December 11th

_ My dearest Christopher, _

_ I am quite pleased to hear that your new marriage is going well, and that she has not yet left you for someone much more intelligent, which I am sure will happen eventually. I still expect to be given recompense for the suit, however, do not think that I have forgotten. _

_ I am also pleased to hear that you are planning on getting plumbing and a toilet installed soon! Pained to know that you have waited until after being wed, but pleased that it is happening eventually. _

_ Now that all of those formalities have been said, I have much more important news! Dear Christopher, I am finally being recognized as the upstanding and influential figure in society that I am! It has been announced that they are going to name a BRIDGE after me!  _

_ This is only the first step, of course. I am for a library someday, and not a stuffy old one like at Oxford, either. I’m thinking a nice private library where I can laugh jovially and show off that I am a member while, I assume, smoking cigars. _

_ I have never been a member of a private library but it only makes sense that they would let you smoke cigars in there.  _

_ When the bridge is unveiled I expect you to be there to witness it in support! _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Two weeks ago, Louis was living in a large house on campus where he had his own room and was honestly terribly lonely. He was crushed under the pressure of living up to the expectation of his roommates as well as getting his coursework done, and if asked he truly couldn’t have said who in there he would consider a friend. 

Now , less than two weeks into December, Louis has had more conversations and, in some form or another,  _ experiences _ with his new roommates than all his months with his old roommates. Even though of the lot, only one of them is taking grad classes (and in a very different field of study), it feels like they have more passion for what they do, more spark, than any of his old roommates.

Or maybe he’s just projecting, because the more he looks back on the experience, the more he realises that it was a fairly traumatic time. Eventually maybe he should talk to someone about that, get everything out there, because he’s realised too late that the only instances where he had truly enjoyed himself were at work with Liam, looking through old files and finding surprise yellowing photographs of very inappropriate dress (also whatever dead things Liam continually comes up with).

After a long day of freezing his ass off in the vault, and then freezing his ass off on the walk home, Louis steps in the back door of their house and suddenly feels  _ very _ warm. 

The house is always a bit on the cold side, likely because it’s old and leaks heat like a sieve, which is why it seems almost concerning now. Making his way through the kitchen and into the living room, the reason becomes clear when Louis comes face to face with a frankly oversized heater right in the middle of the room, blasting hot air in his direction. 

There is no one else in the room. 

“Uh, guys?” Louis calls up the stairs. “Should I… turn this off? It seems like a fire hazard.”

“No!” shouts down Greg. “It needs to be warm!”

Well… alright.

“House initiation starts at seven!” Niall shouts. Louis pulls out his phone; it’s 6:50. Cool. 

“I’ll be… down here?” he calls, feeling ridiculous.

“Yeah!” comes Niall’s voice. “I ordered pizza, you should answer the door when it gets here!”

Right. Alright. Cool. Louis is a little bit concerned but at least there’s pizza. 

He puts his bag down in the front room and toes off his shoes, adding them to the massive pile by the front door. He glances down at the polar bear puzzle and decides it’s beyond hopeless to even try to do anything with it, so instead settles into the wingback near the door.

The room is warm enough he’s considering stripping off his socks when someone knocks at the door and he jumps up to get the pizza. 

Swinging open the door, he’s faced with— 

“Lewis? You deliver pizza?”

“What don’t I do?” asks Lewis, handing over a stack four-deep. “I bet I know what this is for,” he says conspiratorially.

“What’s it for?” Louis asks, hoping for a clue.”

“Ha! I wouldn’t tell ya and ruin the surprise! I remember when it happened to Niall. Really opened his eyes.”

“That’s deeply troubling,” Louis says. 

“Sure is! Well, I’ll be off,” Lewis says, doing a sort of clumsy mock salute. 

Louis would wave but his arms are full of pizza. He shuts the door with his foot and carries the boxes into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table, just as footsteps start coming down the stairs. 

“You ready, Louis?” Greg asks, being the first one to appear. 

And appear he does. 

In nothing but a pair of loose white boxers. 

“I might not be,” says Louis, as he sees Niall appear behind  _ him _ in black boxers. 

“House initiation!” Niall shouts. “Movie night in our pants! It’s tradition!” 

Niall and Greg take up their usual spots on the sofa, immediately reaching for the top box of pizza. Louis stands in the middle of the room as Zayn follows, also in boxers.

(Louis knows that Zayn sleeps in Y-fronts, and he wonders if he’s bought a pair of boxers specifically for this sort of thing).

Harry comes down last, in no hurry unlike those before him, and he is very much still in leggings, black ones that go up past his belly button. 

“These are my pants,” he says to Louis, sounding defensive. “I hate the feeling of waistbands and I’m not sacrificing comfort just because we’re getting naked.”

“The funny thing is Harry started this tradition,” Niall says, “But he’s the one who refuses to wear anything but that.”

“I don’t own any other pants,” Harry points out, primly sitting on a cushion he’s stolen from the couch and placed on the floor.

“Oh,” says Louis, because Harry has made his brain short-circuit and it’s only just started working again. “The space heater is because everyone’s naked.”

“In  _ pants,” _ says Niall. “Yes, so come on, get your kit off.”

“But only if you  _ want _ to,” Harry cuts in. “We’re not  _ forcing anyone,” _ and he looks at Niall sharply.

“It’s tradition, though,” Zayn says. “So it would be rude not to.”

Louis looks around to his four bare chested roommates. “Well,” he says. “Alright.”

Niall and Greg let out cheers.

Louis considers moving to the kitchen and out of their line of sight, but in the end he figures it doesn’t matter. He’s really not shy. He pulls his shirt off and drops it to the floor, trousers following, and ends up in only his boxer briefs and socks.

“Socks can stay on,” Greg says. “That’s acceptable. Feet get cold.”

“Now come on,” Niall says. “Grab pizza and sit down, we have a movie to watch.”

Louis sits next to Greg, which has become his usual spot, and Zayn reaches above himself to turn the lights off, leaving them all bathed only in the glow of the heater and the string of fairy lights from the front room.

“This is Harry’s favourite movie,” Niall says, clicking the television on. It’s very old and graces them with a minute of static before warming up completely and cleaning to a scene with a black background and bright red lips.

“Hold up,” Louis says. “We’re watching  _ Rocky Horror?” _

“It’s the tradition,” Greg says. 

“You have to watch it in your pants because that way it’s not awkward,” says Harry, turning to face him. “Because it’s awkward being in your pants and it’s awkward watching  _ Rocky Horror, _ but if you do them both together then they cancel out, and then you don’t ever have to be awkward around your roommates again, because you’ve all endured a great but also terrible experience together.”

Louis nods. “You make good points,” he says. “Do we have rules on singing along?”

“Oh, we’re all doing the Time Warp together when it comes on,” Niall says. “Even Zayn.”

“I’m not,” says Zayn. 

“Singing along is encouraged,” says Harry.

“But only if you actually know the words,” says Greg. “Because Niall yelled at me for trying to just do it off the subtitles last time.”

Louis grabs a slice of pizza and settles back, comfortably warm in the space heater’s glow as the mouth on the screen starts singing about being caught in a cellular jam. He learns quickly that Harry knows every word to the movie, although for the most part he just mouths along (and sings under his breath). 

He maybe spends more time watching Harry than the movie, but he’s seen  _ Rocky Horror _ dozens of times, having been a devoted theatre kid at one point in his life. 

Zayn falls asleep before the Time Warp even starts and no one bothers to wake him.

Greg and Niall do all of Riff Raff and Magenta’s lines.

Harry gets downright emotional at the end, but also doesn’t cease his commentary— how the tattoos wash off in water, how the last song is only on the UK edition, how they  _ really _ should have just gotten a Rocky who could sing instead of having one lip sync the words, even if he does have good abs, but anyway something about Meat Loaf has always been very appealing…

As far as initiations go, Louis had expected worse. He's somehow found a good group.


	12. December 12th

_ My terrible friend Christopher, _

_ Perhaps you took the opening of the bridge too far. I cannot say that I did not appreciate you coming to celebrate it with me, but hailing down passengers and proclaiming my glories was, even for myself, a bit too egotistical. One’s accomplishments should only be lauded in death, should they not? _

_ Also when you brought out that trumpet, it was simply over the top. I do not know from whom you borrowed it, but I wish they had also given you a lesson on how to play it, because whatever noises were coming out of that poor instrument were not ordained from the Lord, that much is clear.  _

_ And anyroad, you came on much too strong and I had to spend a good amount of time convincing Roger that you were happily married to a woman and had no interest in what I have to offer. I cannot believe that he would ever doubt me, and in the end I relegated him to acquaintance, so I suppose in the end it was a good outcome, but now I once again am returning to a cold bed, and for that I blame you.  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Louis wakes up to shouting. 

Groggily he sits up — and hits his head on the ceiling in the process. The voices are definitely  _ not _ in this room, and he gets the feeling they’re coming from the front room directly below? Looking around, Louis sees Zayn still dead asleep in his bed, not so much as stirring. 

The shouting continues, and Louis figures if there’s an altercation he might as well be there for better or for worse. Dropping down to the floor with a  _ thud  _ (he’s getting better at landing), he sprints down the hallway just as Greg is opening the door to the other bedroom. 

“Mummy and Daddy are fighting,” he says to Louis, glancing nervously down the stairs.

“What?” asks Louis with a frown. “Who?”

“Niall and Harry,” Greg says in a hushed tone. “They go at it once in a while, just get a really good yelling match in. It’s best to leave them to it.”

“It— are you sure?” Louis asks. Here at the top of the stairs their voices are clearer; it definitely is Niall and Harry. 

“Oh yeah,” says Greg. “Give them calm-down time. They just both have a lot of opinions.”

Louis feels  _ very _ unsure about letting that happen, after years of being the one in charge of breaking up his sisters’ arguments. His sisters’…  _ many _ arguments. 

“Right,” he says. “I’m just gonna…” He motions downstairs and, completely ignoring Greg’s advice, tiptoes down. 

There in the doorway are Harry, Niall, and Lewis.

Well, Harry is inside the house. Niall and Lewis are  _ outside  _ the house. There is a large red wingback chair halfway inside the doorway. 

“No,” Harry is saying (shouting). “No, we’re not doing this again, Niall. There’s  _ too much furniture _ in this house already! We don’t have  _ room _ for all of this!”

“But it’s in great shape!” Niall says (shouts). “And it was super cheap, and it’s the perfect comfy size!”

“Niall tested it out himself,” Lewis confirms.

“We have a wingback,” Harry says, motioning to the blue chair mere feet from the door. “We have one  _ right there, _ which you  _ also _ brought home from the secondhand shop like four months ago! We don’t have  _ room _ for another one!”

“Yes we do!” Niall argues. “We’ll just move some things around!”

“Which is what you said when you brought home the second sofa,” Harry points out. “And what did we do? We moved the wingback to the front room. This is going to be a fire hazard at this point!”

“But this way if someone is having a date you and your date can both sit on the wingbacks like old married people on Gogglebox!” Niall says. 

“I’m Giles and he’s Mary,” Lewis says, inserting his opinion cheerfully as if this were not the middle of an argument. 

“Niall, I swear to  _ God,” _ Harry says. “I can’t — I can’t handle one more thing in this house! I literally am going to lose it. I need space!”

“Harry, i swear, you’ll love this chair! It’s so — it’s like the nicest chair I’ve found! It’s better than any other furniture we have!”

“Then  _ get rid of something!” _ Harry nearly screeches. He turns around as if to stomp off but then starts to turn back,  _ then _ seems to spot Louis and freeze.

“Oh,” he says, deflating. “I’m sorry, did we wake you up?”

“I mean,” says Louis, stepping down off of the last step. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

“Lewis and I found this great chair,” Niall rushes to say. “It’s a wingback and it’s got a footstool that folds out of it!”

“And you just brought it home?” Louis asks, trying not to sound  _ too _ bold.

“Well we didn’t want someone else to snatch it up,” Lewis says. “It had just been put out and the price was less than I paid the last time I had to get petrol.”

“How did you get it here?”

“Carried it,” Niall says, looking proud. “Two miles.”

“And you couldn’t have given me a heads up?” Harry asks plaintively. “You  _ know _ I don’t do well with change!”

“Figured I could slip it in and you wouldn’t notice,” Niall mumbles, looking down at the chair caught in the doorway. “We can make it work Haz, really!”

Harry makes a strangled noise. The white and blue striped Christmas jumper he has on today goes almost to his knees, and his hair looks like he’s already been up long enough to curl it, but overall he looks like he’s about to collapse right on the spot.

“Okay,” Louis says, stepping up and making himself  _ part _ of the conversation. Big brother tactics incoming. “So, how do we compromise?”

Niall blinks at Louis. “We… move stuff around?”

“I think unless something  _ leaves _ this room that doesn’t count,” Louis says. 

“We burn the old wingback,” Lewis pipes up. 

Niall elbows him. “No!” he says. “The whole point is so that people can sit on the wingbacks together and have conversation! They’re conversation wingbacks!”

“But there’s not enough  _ room _ for them,” Harry moans. 

“Compromise,” Louis repeats. “You want both the wingbacks. Harry wants more space. Can we get rid of something else?”

All four of them look around the room. It’s not a big room, mostly taken up by the intimidating pile of shoes, the small table with the polar bear puzzle, and three different bookshelves covered in so much clutter Louis couldn’t even begin to dissect them. 

“...No,” says Niall eventually. “Unless we want to get rid of the puzzle table.”

“We  _ use _ the puzzle table,” says Harry. “More than the blue wingback.”

“But we  _ will _ use the wingback,” Niall argues. “When we have  _ two _ of them.”

_ “If _ we have two of them.”

“Okay, Compromise part two, the Compromisoning,” Louis says. “We move both wingbacks somewhere else.”

Everyone stares at him.

“Well, how strict is our homeowners association?” Louis asks.

“We have one of those?” Niall asks, looking uncertain. “I don’t think that’s a thing here.”

“If we do they’ve certainly never cared about us enough to tell us,” Harry says. 

“Now, think this over before you turn me down,” Louis says. “Both wingbacks… go on the porch.”

Harry opens his mouth, probably to object, and then closes it again.

“Our neighbours are going to think we’re a bunch of dumb university students,” Niall says.

“Well some of us are,” Louis points out. “So that works out. We’ve got enough room on the porch and it won’t look classy but it might make for nice date nights, eh Niall? Sitting outside, getting some fresh air, holding hands?”

“You’re a decent salesperson,” Niall says. 

“It would look terrible,” Harry says. 

“That’s not a no,” points out Louis. “It doesn’t have to look great. But it’ll be more room in here!”

“It would…” Harry eyes Niall. “Only if you don’t bring any other furniture home.”

Niall makes a motion that is sort of like crossing himself but also entirely unlike that. “I promise,” he says. “If I can keep this one, no more wingbacks.”

“No more  _ furniture.” _

“No more furniture without calling you first.”

Harry looks at him with distrust. “...Fine,” he says eventually. “We can try it.”

Niall and Lewis both whoop, going in for a high five, missing, and ending up in a hug. 

“I’m not helping you move them, though,” Harry says, stepping back further into the house.”

“We’ve got this!” Niall says, already pulling the chair back out the doorway. “Didn’t know if this would fit all the way in anyway.”

Louis follows Harry as he leaves the situation, going through to the other end of the house where the kitchen is. 

“Was that okay?” Louis asks when Harry leans against the sink and lets out a deep, slow breath.

“What?” asks Harry. “Oh, I mean yeah. It’s better than I was going to get, that’s for sure. When the fire department calls because they’re concerned our porch is going to cave, we’ll deal with that then.” 

He closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair, messing up his curls and making them fluffier. “I’m just… I  _ know _ it’s unreasonable,” he says. “I just have some sensory issues, and they get a lot worse when there’s  _ stuff everywhere, _ and with so many roommates I know our house is going to be rough but I just need to be able to feel like I can breathe sometimes, you know?”

“Hey,” says Louis with a frown. “It’s not unreasonable if it’s sensory issues, yeah? That’s not something you can control. Everyone has different limitations and we all have to work together for the best outcome with what we have, right?”

Harry sniffs nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s hard because it’s no one else’s issue. I should be able to just deal with it and move past it.”

“Sure,” Louis says. “And I have to just deal with my terrible grades, get everything perfect and graduate with top marks. But I don’t have the ability to do that because I’m  _ always _ going to get something wrong, I’m  _ always _ going to leave a bracket out of my metadata, and so far I am always going to miss at least one week of discussion posts for class because I get so burnt out by taking so many classes at once. We’ve all got our limitations, yours just mean you also have to fight with Niall for space sometimes.” He leans back against the refrigerator. “But hey, I’m a pro at sorting out my sisters’ fights. I don’t mind interfering if it helps.”

“It did help,” Harry says. “I hate that blue wingback. At least the red one is pretty, the blue one looks like someone moulded an elephant into the shape of a chair.” He sighs again and then flips his hair back. “I’m going to take a very long bath,” he announces. “With bubbles. But first, do you want cold lasagna?”

“Is this gratitude lasagna?” Louis asks.

“Absolutely it is,” Harry says, pulling open the refrigerator. “Also I’m going to eat some in the bath and I need to split it with someone.”

“Perfect,” Louis says. “I’ll take it.”

He takes the offered plate to the living room as Harry takes his upstairs. Through the front window Louis can see the two wingback chairs, with Niall and Lewis’ legs swung over the arms and intertwined with one another. 

Sorta like holding hands, Louis thinks. Sorta kinda.

The cold lasagna is delicious.


	13. December 13th

_ My platonic companion Christopher, _

_ Your wife and I have been speaking and I have learned of the incident in which you attempted to bribe a man to give you his outfit. I must point out that she also told me what outfit he had on, and it would not suit you. You have no flair for the dramatic, my dear Christopher. Purples and reds and other bright colours are too bold for you. I know you say that clothes make the man, but I’m afraid that only goes so far. Please let your wife help you, I know she has excellent taste in fashion. Also please do not try to buy anyone else’s clothes. Word gets around. _

_ Actually, if you have the money to spare, use it to buy me a new suit. Do not think I have forgotten.  _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

“I want to find our Christmas decorations,” Niall says.

“Good luck to you,” says Greg. “I’ll tell your family how bravely you fought.”

Niall scowls. 

The house is full today. Louis woke up around noon, because sleep is precious and he does not get nearly enough during the week, and he came downstairs to find almost every spot on both sofas filled. Niall, Lewis and Greg on one sofa and Liam and Zayn on the other. Harry, as usual, had chosen to sit on a cushion stolen from the sofa, laying out his work on the coffee table while everyone else was zoning out in the general direction of the television.

Louis had settled down on the free space next to Liam (where there was no back cushion because Harry had taken it), and gotten lost in the chatter and gossip floating around the room. 

“Listen,” Niall says. “I put them all the way in the back of the cellar because it’s  _ drier _ back there! They’re more likely to have survived than last year!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you’ll survive going to  _ get _ them,” Greg says. “I swear there’s a whole caves system down there. Our cellar is definitely part of some terrible undiscovered network of catacombs.”

“I thought our Christmas decorations were already up?” Louis asks, looking around at the miniature Christmas tree and the fairy lights in the front room.

“Oh God no,” Niall says. “That’s just what we went out and bought because everyone here is too scared of the cellar.”

“I’m not ever going to be the first one to die in a horror film,” Zayn mumbles. He’s been working on making chainmail since Louis came downstairs, using Liam’s hands to hold the free links and taking them one at a time to bend into a complex network in his lap. “No way I’m going down there.”

“How do you wash your clothes?” Louis asks. There’s a washer and dryer right at the base of the stairs, although he’s never gone further into the cellar than that.

“Laundrette,” says Zayn. “There’s one just up the road.”

“Honestly I respect that decision,” says Lewis. “One time I was in a graveyard and came across a ghost who looked like my Great Aunt Marge. She told me I’d die in my sleep of old age, which was pretty nice of her I think.”

“That’s why Lewis doesn’t look both ways before crossing the road,” Niall says. “He doesn’t have to. Knows he’s not going to die.”

“Please obey traffic laws,” Harry says, not looking up from his textbook. 

“Yes mum,” says Lewis. 

“Well  _ like I said,” _ Niall continues. “The cellar is not actually  _ that _ bad, and we have four boxes of Christmas things! Lights and a real tree and stocking and shit! It’s Christmas and we need to be celebrating!”

“What if we just put on  _ Elf _ and call it a day?” Harry asks. “Last time someone went that far into the cellar they tracked mud all through the house.”

“We can put a welcome mat at the top of the stairs,” says Greg. “And also maybe tie a string to Niall so we can pull him back up when he gets eaten.”

“Also, our copy of  _ Elf _ is packed away with the other Christmas DVDs.”

Louis is fairly sure that the cellar can’t be  _ that _ bad. He also figures that going down to the cellar and exploring means he can put off working on assignments for a little longer. “I’ll go with you,” he says to Niall. 

“Perfect,” says Niall. “Let me get my boots.”

“I’m going to miss you, Louis,” says Greg. “You were a good one.”

“It’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t wander off the path,” Lewis says. “That’s always when trouble happens.”

Liam, who has been silent this whole time, completely mesmerised by the way Zayn has been deftly maneuvering the chainmail, looks up. “Do you guys need help?” he asks. 

“No, shush,” Zayn tries to say, but Niall’s louder.

“Absolutely,” he says. “You look very strong. Come help us carry boxes and defeat cellar monsters.”

The door between the living room and the kitchen is the one that leads to the cellar. It has a bolt lock and a chain lock, which Louis hadn’t thought much about in the past but now that all three of them are standing in front of the door, it seems highly questionable.

“You go first,” he tells Niall. “Since you know where we’re going.”

Niall nods, swinging open the door and taking out his phone for light. “Come on,” he says. “Christmas awaits!”

The stairs are rickety and creak under their footsteps. They also sway a little because, as Louis realises when they reach the bottom, they don’t seem to be attached to the floor at all. 

There’s the washer and dryer on their left, under the single bare bulb in the cellar. To their right, it’s total darkness. Niall’s phone light gives them just enough light to see that the cellar seems to be divided into rooms instead of just all one large space. 

It’s a little creepy, honestly.

The floor seems like it’s mostly dirt, muffling their footsteps as they go deeper. Niall leads them, passing through the first door into an otherwise entirely pitch black room, then through to a third that is just as dark. Both rooms are completely empty from what Louis can tell; just dirt and cobwebs.

The fourth room at the very end is where they find three stacks of storage boxes with red lids. 

“Here we are!” Niall says. “And they don’t look like they’ve gotten any damage at all!”

He picks up a box. 

Louis picks up a box. 

Liam picks up a stack of boxes. 

Despite how slow they were going through the cellar originally, Niall practically sprints back and up the stairs. Liam shrugs and follows, and Louis ends up last. 

It’s a little creepier being last. And darker. 

He tries to hurry but also balance the jingling box in his hands. Through one door… then another….

Then for the briefest second, to his right, it’s like he sees one of the librarians who is always wandering through the archives vault.

Then he’s through the last door and he hurries up the rickety stairs to join Liam and Niall. 

“Our last wanderer! Returned alive!” Lewis shrieks. 

“Box of lights,” Niall says. “Box of baubles… box with stockings… another box of lights…” he looks at Louis’ box. “And box of christmas DVDs. The tree must still be down there.”

“You’re on your own,” Louis says, sitting back down on the sofa. “I vote we watch  _ Elf _ and decorate the tiny tree. I don’t want to go back down there again.”

The cellar is definitely just old and damp.

He just doesn’t want to go back down.

For reasons.


	14. December 14th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note there is talk of a small fire in this chapter -- but it's ALL FINE)
> 
> (also note if you put a salted caramel cream cold brew in the refrigerator for the next day, all the cream will have disappeared into the cold brew and it looks very disappointing but still tastes decent)

_My close friend Christopher,_

_I have been informed of a terrible loss, today. My bridge — the one that bore my name — has been burned to the ground._

_Or, more accurately I suppose, burned to the water. It was above a river, after all._

_Oh, how short our lives can be, how cruel the passage of time. The one monument put up to remember me, and it has not even lasted as long as I!_

_They do say they hope to rebuild, which would make sense because it’s about the only bridge north out of Ambridge, but still I weep. Please comfort me and send some of those hard candies you’ve learned how to make._

_Oh, also, please be aware that Nigel is not in good standing to come back to my flat again. He made a nasty comment about my moon face and I refuse to keep up a relationship based on pain._

_Yours, Scott_

— 

For the most part, the letters that Louis is archiving and creating a finding aid for are in perfect chronological order. Some are missing dates so he can’t be sure, but almost everything else has been carefully arranged. 

The project is almost finished, and he has to have it done before class goes on holiday at the end of the month in order to stay on schedule, and he thinks he’s going to miss them, these short and interesting letters.

The thing is, he still hasn’t the slightest clue who Christopher is. 

Scott had published a handful of novellas and poetry books, and some online forums make reference to an autobiography _(I Love You, Farewell),_ but the library doesn’t have a copy of it and it must have been printed in a very short run because he can’t find any online to try to get purchased. So, any hope of learning who Christopher is from that source has basically been dashed. 

Unfortunately Christopher is such a common name, even in the time period, and he just hasn’t been able to find one that fit the bill. Christopher is a mystery, and apparently a rather eccentric one at that. 

He gets this way at the end of every archiving project, though. This way where he’s fallen in love with the people in it, their lives laid out plainly for him to read and assemble and dissect. If Louis is one thing, he is a romantic, and Christopher seems to be, well, a good ally to Scott. And an idiot who needs to purchase houses with toilets already inside. 

— 

When Louis emerges from the archiving department, today with Liam next to him as they’ve finished at relatively the same time for once, it’s well past dark. It always is at this point, so close to the solstice. 

“Are you going to take the bus home?” asks Liam. 

“Well I’m certainly not going to _walk,”_ Louis says. “It’s freezing and an extra forty minutes at least if I do it that way.”

“Right yeah, of course,” Liam says, and then pauses… “Would you like a ride?”

“Any time that you are coming to my house you should assume that I would like a ride, yes Liam,” Louis says, veering off course toward where he knows Liam parks his car. “Are you picking up Zayn so the two of you can go canoodle in peace?”

Liam blushes, probably. It’s dark but Louis is very good at making Liam blush. “He was planning on spending the night, yeah,” he says. 

“Perfect,” says Louis. “Then I will spend the night making as much noise in our room as I’d like. Do you know he’s a very sound sleeper but _will_ wake up to Mariah Carey?”

“I’ve never tried to play Mariah Carey while he was asleep,” Liam says, unlocking his car as they approach it. “But I do know that he thinks your taste in music is questionable.”

Louis gasps. “I am offended,” he says, climbing into Liam’s car. “I shall be offended for the rest of my life, and now I shall wake him up to Mariah Carey every day.”

Liam hums and turns on the car. He doesn’t seem displeased.

“Why are you not defending your boyfriend’s honour?” Louis asks, suspicious.

“Well,” Liam says, sounding thoughtful. “The more you wake him up with Mariah Carey, the more I think he will choose to wake up with me instead. I don’t think I’d mind that too much.”

— 

They park around the corner, since Greg’s truck takes up the single parking space in the back, and so have to walk up the front steps. The two wingback chairs are jarringly out of place, but Niall has threaded some Christmas lights, colourful blinking ones, around them. It makes them look _more_ out of place, but also sort of pleasing and homely. 

Louis unlocks the door. Pulling it open, he’s immediately hit by the strong smell of burning. 

“What the fuck,” Louis says, hurrying into the room with Liam behind him. “Hello?”

All the rooms are dark, and Louis doesn’t _see_ any sign of fire or anything. The smell is bad, though. In the living room he finds Greg asleep on the sofa. Good to know that Greg will be on the alert in times of crisis like this. 

Moving into the kitchen, with Liam hot on his heels, Louis almost gags at how strong the burning smell is. He opens the oven — nope, that’s normal — looks in the toaster — seems fine — then opens the microwave.

Smoke pours out as soon as he does, and he hurries to shut it again. 

“What the fuck?” Louis asks. 

“What was in there?” Liam asks, peering over his shoulder.

Louis slowly opens the microwave door again. Smoke seeps out again for a minute before fading and when it’s gone, he opens it all the way. 

There is a blackened cup noodle in the microwave.

Very blackened.

“What the _fuck,”_ says Louis.

He turns back toward the living room. “Greg!” he yells. “Greg, what the fuck!”

A muffled groan comes from the living room. Liam, beside him, prods the cup noodle. It comes apart a little.

 _“Greg!”_ Louis yells again.

 _“‘M coming,_ hold on,” Greg yells back, and then staggers into the room. 

“Oh yeah,” he says. 

“Oh yeah?” asks Louis.

“Well,” says Greg. “I put the cup noodle in the microwave and set it, but then it caught fire.”

“It caught fire,” says Louis. 

“Well I realised I forgot to add water,” says Greg. “But they say you shouldn’t _open_ the microwave when something catches on fire because if you leave it closed, it’ll run out of oxygen and burn itself out.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Liam says.

“Well so I added like five minutes to the time, just to be sure,” Greg says. “But I just came home from an overnight shift and I was tired, so I figured it’d be out by the time I woke up.”

“Greg,” says Louis slowly. “Why did you _add time?”_

“Because I wasn’t supposed to open it,” says Greg. “To put out the fire.”

“Greg, I mean this with the best of intentions,” Louis says. “I’m pretty sure you’re actually supposed to unplug the microwave when that happens. I think you did the opposite of a good thing.”

“Huh,” says Greg. “Well that’s pretty unfortunate.”

“I think you might need a new microwave,” says Liam. 

“I think we might need a new house if we can’t get the smell out of this one,” counters Louis. 

It turns out two wingbacks on the porch come in handy when airing out the rest of the house from an almost-fire. Louis covers himself in every blanket he owns and works on his metadata tables for school while listening to Greg inside explain to one roommate after another what happened as they get home. 

He wonders a little how this house — and the people in it — are still intact.


	15. December 15th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for non-graphic mention of maggots! (I tagged that as bugs but i think they're... not bugs? or they are bugs. Are they worms?)

_ My fair weather friend Christopher, _

_ If you are ALSO going to make fun of my moon face, then I do not see us moving forward in this friendship unless you are also ready to put up with my notes on your horrendous style choices. You keep your hair much too short and your collars are constantly crooked. I know for a fact that you do not wind your pocket watch and I have conferred with your wife about how you believe that pants can be worn four times in different directions before they are in need of a wash.  _

_ Now, are we going to make peace or shall I continue? _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

“I’ve got exams this week,” says Harry. “Have you got exams this week?”

“Yeah. One on Thursday, two on Friday and one project.” Louis takes a drink from his travel mug. It’s just got hot water in it, and he really only brought it because it would warm his hands on the walk to the bus, but it turns out drinking hot water on its own isn’t too bad. 

“Good luck,” says Harry. “I’m considering pulling another all-nighter. I just don’t feel very prepared.”

“What, tonight?” Louis looks at him askance. 

Harry sort of shrugs, noncommittal. 

“So you’d pull two all-nighters in a row,” Louis points out. “Which I feel like would make you entirely nonfunctional. I do not think you would survive.”

“Maybe just a modified sleep schedule. I’ll sleep a few hours morning and evening to boost productivity.”

“You know you’re not a programmable machine, right?” Louis asks. “Like, humans need schedules and shit, I’m pretty sure.”

“I know that I need to pass these exams and if I don’t, I’ve wasted a whole lot of money,” Harry says. “I have it all mapped out exactly, how much I need to save to be out of debt as fast as possible, and I don’t want to have to take an extra class and mess all that up.”

Louis grimaces, thinking about the amount he owes. “Still,” he says. “It won’t help if you end up so sleep-deprived that you don’t absorb anything.”

“We’ll see,” Harry says. The bus stop is in sight at the end of the hill, and they get to the traffic light just in time to see a bus pulling away. Ah well. “I’ve done it before and survived.”

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better,” Louis says. 

— 

Louis’ family expect him home for his birthday and Christmas, of course. There’s nothing in the world that he wants more than waking up on the floor of his sisters’ room — because they took over his own room when he moved out — on Christmas morning for presents and cinnamon rolls and fighting over new toys, really there isn’t. But in his plans, he’s delayed a bit what day he’s going home. It was originally going to be as soon as exams were over, but with trying to get this project in his internship done before the new year, and the sudden change of house… Well honestly, he wants to spend a bit more time with his roommates. Possibly especially with Harry. 

He’ll still be home by his birthday. It’ll be fine. 

The archiving office feels colder than usual today, probably because the temperature outside has dropped enough that it’s been lightly snowing (which Louis only noticed when he came up to the ground floor for coffee at lunch). He’s managed to con his way into borrowing Liam’s hoodie and has the scarf he keeps in a drawer around his neck as he begins to organise the letters into stacks by date. 

“I’ve found a new podcast series,” says Liam, who is perfectly happy in a thin button up shirt, the madman. 

Everybody in the office listens to podcasts. Mostly homicide mysteries and other true crime. It seems to be the mark of a librarian. Most of them also listen  _ during _ work, but Louis’ project has been hands-on enough that he hasn’t had the ability to listen to something too. And anyway, he thinks Liam would get lonely without his sparkling wit. 

“Tell me more,” Louis says. Liam listens to true crime podcasts while alone in his flat, which Louis thinks is  _ terribly _ brave of him. 

“It’s about medical mysteries,” says Liam. “Like, unexplained illnesses and things.” He pauses and thinks for a moment. “A lot of them end up being because of insects, actually.”

‘I’m going to  _ stop  _ you right there,” Louis says, putting a hand up. “Nope. We are not going down the bugs route. I do not need to know about scary bugs that live in your body or something, no thank  _ you.” _

Liam nods. “That’s fair,” he says. “Do you want to hear about the podcast I’m listening to on the history of Christmas shopping?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “Tell me that one. Erase the bugs from my mind.”

— 

It’s dark outside when Louis leaves the library, as per usual, but that means that the snow, which is much heavier than it was when Louis last saw it, looks beautiful in the light of the lampposts, swirling around in mesmerising patterns. 

It’s also freezing, but Louis can excuse that for the Christmassy feeling in the air. 

(He can’t as easily excuse the way his feet slip over the pavement because the snow has really started to pile up, but that’s a separate issue). 

The bus ride home is crowded, to say the least, with students staying on campus a bit later to study presumably (or leaving early because they’re giving up?). Louis has to stand the whole way, and at least he thaws out by the time he reaches his stop, even though he knows he’ll be frozen again and few minutes into the trek up the hill and back home. 

The walk home is always extra lonely since the walk to the bus in the morning is with Harry at his side. Louis hopes he doesn’t end up pulling an all-nighter. He thinks maybe he should check on him tonight and force him to go to sleep. 

Every day he walks home, though, there’s a few more houses with Christmas lights up, which is a nice surprise, and the primary school has a sign out saying that the Nativity is going to be held soon.

The last stretch of pavement is always the longest, but he can see his house at the end of the street. It’s usually pretty dark, there are trees lining the side of the house and they keep the curtains drawn because of  _ inappropriately dressed roommates, _ so after dark it’s not usually very noticeable, but… The light above the back door is on. 

Also, the back door is open. 

Also, there are a whole lot of people standing just inside the back door. 

Louis picks up his pace a little. 

“Hello?” he calls when he reaches Greg’s car. “What’s happening?”

The first person he recognizes is Lewis, who is not in the doorway at all, but rather in front of Greg’s truck, where the bins are located. Their own bin sits right next to their neighbours’, and the whole time Louis has lived here (admittedly not actually long), his neighbours’ bin hasn’t made it out to the kerb for pickup on the appropriate day, so it’s always been stacked tall. 

Lewis is wearing what looks like a surgical mask, and gloves. He’s leaning over the bin with his phone in his hands, pointing a light into it. 

By contrast, Louis recognizes Niall, Harry and Zayn all in the doorway, illuminated by the kitchen light as they peer out. Harry, in front, has a blanket draped around his shoulders for warmth. 

Lewis looks up. “Welcome home, Bookworm!” he calls. “You guys have been given a gift.”

Louis looks toward the huddle in the doorway for explanation. Harry motions him over, looking shifty, so Louis comes up to the base of the stairs. 

“Our neighbours put their garbage in our bin,” he says in hushed tones.

“Oh,” says Louis. “Is that really that bad? I’ve definitely chucked garbage in bins when walking down the road before.”

“It’s bad when you’re  _ infesting _ your neighbour’s bin,” Niall says, going dramatically louder as he speaks, even as Harry tries to shush him. 

“We’ve got maggots,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “The bin was full of like six takeout bags of Nando’s and all of it is covered in maggots.”

Louis thinks he might vomit. 

“Alright over there my house mouses?” Lewis calls. “You ready for me to solve all your problems?”

“I don’t approve of this,” Harry mumbles, just as Niall calls out,  _ “Yes, _ Lewis! Destroy them!”

Lewis leans over, picks up a jug, and pours it straight into the bin.

“Oh my god,” Louis says. 

Having emptied that jug, Lewis picks up another one and unscrews it.

“Please tell me that’s not more Liquid Crystal,” Louis says.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffs Niall. “It’s bleach.”

“I  _ don’t  _ approve of this,” Harry repeats.

“Do we… have a plan for how to get the bleach  _ out _ of the bin afterward?” Louis asks.

“I punctured a bunch of small holes in it,” Zayn says. “It should just leak out really slowly.”

“This is  _ terrible _ for the environment,” Harry moans.

“I am  _ manly,” _ Lewis shouts. “I am the  _ provider _ of this household!”

“That’s very medieval,” Harry says. “Sexist, and blatantly incorrect.”

“You go, babe!” Niall shouts back. “Provide for me!”

Lewis pours three jugs in total, before stripping off his gloves and masks and tossing them in after.

“No offense babe, but you’re not allowed into our house until you shower,” Niall says when he approaches. “I’m not risking it.”

Lewis purses his lips and nods in agreement. “That’s fair,” he says. “Wait for me, my sweet prince!”

And he walks around the house, disappearing around the corner, presumably to wherever he’s parked his car.

“Incredible,” says Zayn.

“He’s a peach,” says Niall.

“I’m banning all hard chemicals in this house at the next house meeting,” says Harry. “We are one step away from eroding everything we’ve built our lives on. Literally.”

He turns to go inside, his blanket trailing like a cape behind him. “Oh, Louis,” he says, turning back for a moment. “I made stress pizza, and you’re welcome to have some.”

“He said we weren’t allowed to have any more until you got a chance,” Niall says with a pout. “House mum’s gotta make sure everything is shared equally, I guess.”

Zayn shrugs. “I mean. He didn’t say the same about Greg coming home.”

Louis follows them into the house, happy to finally be out of the cold and away from the gathering smell of bleach.

He has trouble concentrating on revising as he eats stress pizza and thinks about Zayn’s comment.


	16. December 16th

_ My loyal friend Christopher, _

_ Now that we have put our differences behind us, I feel I can in good conscience point out something that has been bothering me for some time. _

_ You do not truly think that Australia is in the future, do you? _

_ I have heard you joke several times now about calling an Australian friend to hear about things that have not happened yet here in London, but I need to know — do you actually believe that they are in the future? Do you understand how the world works? It is round, and the sun is in different places depending on where you are.  _

_ Please let me know if you understand how time works. I just need to know. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

The snow doesn’t stop.

Louis gives up on revising around one in the morning and when he goes to sleep, he notices how it’s piled up on the ledge at the bottom of the window. The world outside is white. It’s that muffled quiet that comes with blankets of snow, reflecting the lights from the lampposts and making the world unnaturally bright for the time of night. 

The house is cold, too. The furnace hasn’t turned off basically all evening, dutifully chugging away and trying its best to keep the temperature somewhere at least sort of near what they have it set to. It’s failing, though, and Louis layers every blanket he owns onto himself in an attempt to keep cozy and warm. 

Usually when he does that, layering up every blanket he has, he sleeps like the dead with all the extra weight. Tonight, though, he’s only asleep for about two hours.

The world outside is still white and muffled and bright and dark when he wakes up. It looks just like it did when he went to sleep. He’s confused, for a moment. His alarm wouldn’t have gone off, and Zayn left around midnight to go canoodle with Liam, so it couldn’t be  _ him. _

Then, after his brain starts to catch up to the rest of him, he realises the reason:

There’s a whole lot of yelling going on in this house.

Louis sits straight up — hits his forehead on the ceiling — jumps out of bed — lands heavily on the floor because he’s six feet up — and runs to open the door.

The light from the hallway floods into his room and he squints, his eyes adjusting as his ears are  _ filled _ with the sound of  _ many _ people yelling.

Or at least Niall and Greg, who sound like many people with how loud their voices are.

_ “Grab your bedding!”  _ Niall is shouting.  _ “Not your — no, leave the storage tubs! They’re plastic and sealed, they’ll be fine!” _

_ “Well they have precious things in them!” _ Greg yells, and then there’s a  _ thump-thump-thump _ of something heavy falling down the stairs.  _ “Fuck, who has the landlord’s number?” _

_ “What’s he gonna do?” _

_ “I don’t know, turn off the water?” _

_ “Can we turn off the water?” _

_ “I don’t know! Call Lewis!” _

_ “He sleeps like the dead! He won’t pick up!” _

_ “Well ask Harry! Harry knows!” _

There’s muffled talking and then,  _ “Harry says he’s working on it!” _

It’s apparent when Louis gets to the other end of the hallway just what the problem is.

There is water  _ pouring _ into the back bedroom. 

It’s coming from the ceiling in a waterfall, hitting the floor right in front of Harry and Niall’s beds, right where Harry sits to curl his hair every morning.

“Holy shit,” says Louis.

“I know!” says Greg, running in and out, grabbing miscellaneous things around the room. “A pipe burst!”

“Why is there a water pipe  _ above _ your room?” Louis asks. He should be asking more important things, like what can he help with? Where’s Harry? But the adrenaline that’s started coursing through him ever since he was jolted awake is pretty useless at giving him  _ helpful _ things to say. 

“No fucking clue!” Greg says, throwing things down the stairs. Niall seems to be on the receiving end. “We thought maybe they had the pipe go from the kitchen  _ over _ our room and to the bath?”

“Bad,” says Louis. “That’s bad.”

_ “It froze and burst,” _ yells Niall from the bottom of the stairs.  _ “That’s what Harry says!” _

Gred has cleared most of what would be directly under the flow of the water by now. “Bucket!” he says to Louis. “Can you get the bucket? I think there’s one in the closet across from the bathtub.”

“Right, yeah.” Louis scampers next door to rifle through the closet, having to pull hard because the door was clearly at one point painted shut. There’s a large paint bucket on the floor, although he has to dump out an obscene amount of empty shampoo containers. 

He runs back and sets it under the small waterfall, which begins filling it alarmingly fast.

_ “Harry says he turned off the water,”  _ Niall yells.  _ “But it’ll take a bit before it works!” _

“I think there’s another bucket downstairs,” Greg says. “In the kitchen, under the sink. Could you look?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says, glad to be useful as he sprints around the corner and down the stairs. The stairs are, unsurprisingly, very wet at this point and he has to grab onto the railing to keep from slipping down them.

Niall’s at the bottom around the corner, surrounded by piles of sheets and pillows and clothes and hairstyling bottles and knickknacks and books, organized roughly by how soaked it is. 

Louis rounds the corner again and into the kitchen, where there’s a much  _ slower  _ leak coming from the ceiling here, dripping through the floor of the bedroom upstairs. 

Louis figures that a tiled kitchen floor will probably be fine with a bit of water and opts to still grab a bucket for upstairs. He opens up under the sink to find — ah yes, there’s a bucket at the very back, behind an army of half-empty forgotten bottles of fairy liquid,

Harry’s here in the kitchen too, looking suspiciously like someone  _ not _ in pyjamas. Looking more like someone who never went to sleep. He’s got his phone held up to his ear with a sweaterpaw, his other hand listlessly twirling curls in his hair. 

“Hi Zayn,” he says, clearly into the phone as he stares into the middle distance. He’s got a  _ phone voice _ on like he’s worked in customer service before. “When you get this feel free to call back, I just wanted to let you know that there’s an issue here, and if you can stop at home in the morning before work or wherever it is you go, that’d probably be a good idea. Anyway, everyone’s fine, don’t worry.”

He pockets his phone and Louis stifles a laugh. “You could’ve used a bit more urgency,” he says. “Zayn might not actually realise  _ anything’s _ wrong at this rate.”

Harry huffs. “Well I didn’t want to stress him out!” he groans. “And anyway it’s not his room.”

“Does this mean we won’t be able to take showers in the morning?”

“Unless we can get ahold of the landlord,” Harry says. “Which is questionable.”

“Do you think whoever he sends over will notice the bin full of bleach?”

“Oh lord.” Harry looks faint. “I forgot about that.”

Louis drags the bucket out, finally. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says. “And you and I can shower at the workout building on campus.”

He takes the bucket out of the room as Harry faintly says, “Oh no, I have an exam in five hours.”


	17. December 17th

_ My morose friend Christopher, _

_ Yes, fine, I am sorry I dared you to go into that garment shop and yell about your love of marital relations, but to be honest I cannot believe that you are still, after all these years, so insistent on following through on any challenges I present to you? Surely you could see it coming, that they would ban you from their establishment.  _

_ If you insist, though, I suppose you have my sincerest apologies. It’s not like you go to that garment shop often, anyway.  _

_ Please, next time, do not take me up on a dare when we are both three sheets to the wind. I cannot always be the responsible one. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

The plumber has come and gone. 

There is no more water coming from the ceiling.

There’s a very  _ very _ large hole in the ceiling of the back bedroom, exposing a very scary looking attic-like area, and a pipe that just looks like it’s been wrapped in layers of duct tape. 

“He’s done something more than just taped it closed, right…?” Niall had asked, looking up at it in fear.

“I honestly don’t know,” Greg had said. “And I am scared.”

The floor of the bedroom still feels wet. Everything left in that room feels slightly damp. There’s just sort of a standing puddle in the kitchen that no one has bothered to deal with.

Originally, Greg and Niall had slept spread out on sofas for the remainder of the night. Louis is pretty sure Harry never went to sleep, as he was already up and eating buttered noodles in the kitchen when Louis came downstairs. 

Then it had been the first day of exams and everything else blurred together. 

But with the exposed pipe and the… everything the way it was, at the end of the very long day that started with a burst pipe, Greg, Niall and Harry had dragged their mattresses into Louis and Zayn’s room.

(or, Niall and Greg had. The space below Louis’ bunk was free, and the space above Zayn’s bunk was free, so they had to be a bit flexible).

(Louis refused to address the pit of disappointment when Greg offered to share his mattress with Harry because they were both single and wouldn’t be in danger of disappointing significant others). 

So in the light of morning, Louis suddenly has to contend with four roommates in his room instead of just one, and he’s not actually sure how to get out of bed  _ quietly. _

Jumping straight from his bunk to the floor is the only way he’s ever gotten out of bed, and it comes with an audible  _ thunk. _

He tries to sort of shimmy down the side using the support beams of the loft, but it turns out that that’s much more difficult, because he gets low enough that his tummy is against the side of his bunk and his feet are on the support beam halfway down and there doesn’t seem to be another beam to step on but if he jumps backward at this angle there’s a good chance he will either a) over-estimate and tumble against the tall stack of tackle boxes Zayn keeps his chainmail in or b) under-estimate and give his nether regions the wooden-bunk version of a carpet burn. 

Maybe if it weren’t six in the morning and it wasn’t the middle of exams and he wasn’t running on very little sleep it would occur to him to turn around and use the tackle boxes as leverage but that’s just not in Louis’ thinking capabilities right now. Instead, he spends a very long time just sort of… suspended there. 

Until another alarm goes off, one that sounds distinctly like the clapping at the beginning of  _ Rasputin  _ before it very quickly gets shut off, and Harry sits up.

Harry, who is sharing with Greg, and sleeping directly below Louis.

Louis, halfway over the side of his bunk, stares at Harry.

Harry blinks at Louis. 

Time goes on. 

After what feels like much too long of a time, Harry breaks the stare and gets up. He whispers,  _ “Do you need help?” _

Louis shakes his head.

Louis pauses.

Louis nods his head.

Harry leaves the room.

_ Huh,  _ thinks Louis. He wonders if Harry has simply decided not to help him.

But a few moments later Harry returns, with one of the cushions from the sofa. He places it on the floor below Louis. 

_ “Soft landing,”  _ he whispers.

Louis holds in his laughter.

After positioning himself a few more times, Louis closes his eyes, and lets go of the bunk.

He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, and he should have properly jumped instead of just let go, but sometimes Louis is simply not good at doing things, and he sort of lands on the cushion but then also tumbles backward and hits every single one of Zayn’s tackle boxes. The lighter ones fall off the stack and the heavier ones just make a terrible jangling noise and the end result is, predictably, that everyone in the room is suddenly awake.

(And Louis’ back hurts).

God. What a week.

— 

Twelve hours later finds everyone in the living room watching  _ Love Actually. _

Everything is just as much of a mess. There is still standing water in the kitchen and there’s still piles of  _ things _ in the corners of the room, having been pushed aside to let normal life continue around them. 

Louis is desperately trying to finish a project for LIS 6054, running his code through every site that will supposedly find where he dropped a curly bracket. 

Harry has water pollution notes spread out over the coffee table, Zayn is working on his chainmail again, and Liam is sitting next to Zayn, but is so intent on watching the movie that he looks like a child who’s just been shown a magic trick for the first time. 

“He thinks going to  _ America _ is going to solve his problems?” he asks no one in particular, dumfounded.

“This movie will just disappoint you, babe,” Zayn says. 

Harry is facing away from the television, but he’s also mouthing along with all the words. 

Greg is in the kitchen, visible through the doorway. He’s got a pot on the hob and the sound of popcorn popping has just started. Louis looks up, watching Greg work with disinterest as he starts to give up on the idea that his code will ever be usable.

He looks up just in time to watch a piece of popcorn escape the lid of the pot and land on the burner.

Then a few more pieces of popcorn.

Then, understandably, the popcorn begins to catch fire. 

“Greg?” Louis calls. “Greg, fire?”

Harry’s head shoots up, eyes wild. “No!” He shouts, jumping up and running into the kitchen just as Greg is turning around and noticing the issue. 

Harry slaps the on-fire popcorn directly onto the floor and steps on it with his fuzzy slippers.

He turns to Greg with wild eyes.

“There will  _ not _ be fire in this house,” Harry says, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I cannot handle that, I have  _ exams.” _

Greg gulps and nods. 

Louis tries very desperately to hide the smile on his face. 

He definitely fails.

Harry makes eye contact with Louis as he comes back into the room to sit down. His eyes communicate something, but Louis doesn’t know what.

They go back to studying. 

There are exams, after all.


	18. December 18th

_ My dearest bosom buddy Christopher, _

_ I have had an absolutely genius idea. I know that you are beyond terrible at buying gifts for your mother, and that my mother only expects the same items from me every year. How about this year we engage in a little deception? I shall buy a present for your mother, and you shall buy a present for mine, and we will each present them, wrapped, without knowing what is inside? The fun we shall have! I think this is an activity that will benefit everybody, and I know just what your mum would enjoy. No, I am not telling you yet, that is part of the game! _

_ Please agree with my fabulous idea. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

It is the last day of exams and Louis has gotten so little sleep he wonders if he should buy a third cup of coffee. Or fourth? He’s gone through a lot. 

There’s one exam left and, since he’s drunk his weight in coffee, Louis is just emerging from the toilets down the hall from his classroom when he makes undeniable eye contact with — 

“Oh hi, Chris,” Louis says, trying to sound polite but not  _ too _ polite.

“Louis!” Chris says. “It’s good to see you! How are you?”

Louis wonders if it really is ‘good to see’ him. If Louis had asked someone to move out of his house because they weren’t measuring up, he wouldn’t exactly be excited to see them. “Oh, I’m not bad,” he says. “You know, just about to take my last exam so I can’t say I’m not happy to be done.”

“That’s great!” says Chris, and now his enthusiasm is seeming… a little too enthusiastic. “Listen, I’d love to talk and catch up after this if you have time, but I wanted to let you know that that guy who moved in after you, well he’s not going to be staying on into spring. Just didn’t work out, I guess. So if you were in need, I think we have a bedroom open again.”

Louis stops short. He looks at Chris, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks. Chris opens his mouth but Louis keeps talking. “You had someone move in and they’re already moving out again? Dude, it’s not even been a month. I know you guys are all about academic excellence or whatever, I know, I was there, but is he moving out because the fit wasn’t right for him, or is he moving out because your standards and expectations were so ridiculous?”

“Okay,” Chris says. “I can see that you’re not interested, you don’t have to project your own issues onto us.”

Louis nods. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “Maybe that  _ is _ what I’m doing.” he sidesteps around Chris. “I spent a long time trying to make it work with you guys,” he says. “And it just never did. And maybe some people really do benefit from living in that house and working themselves like robots until they’re able to list all their good deeds at the end of every day, so maybe what you’re doing is really great for some people.” He shakes his head. “Maybe just try to remember that everyone needs friendship, and friendship is about more than a means to an end.” he starts to walk away but then turns back. “But hey, there’s some open beds at my house if you have anyone who needs to move out. We have wingback chairs on our porch and holes in the bottom of our bin and eroded pipes and I’m pretty sure there’s a ghost in our cellar, but I’ve lived more in these two weeks than I have in the last two years.”

He forces himself to stop talking and walk away, in part because he’s got an exam that he sure as hell isn’t going to miss, and in part because Chris really isn’t a bad guy. He’s just someone who’s never had to try to live a different life to fit in. People have always fit in  _ around  _ him, until people like Louis came around and couldn’t.

— 

There’s something so weird about exams in information science, because it’ll be a slew of technical questions (compare the most common subject filing systems, and give an explanation for which one you would recommend), and then a moral one thrown in (should the government be allowed to access patron reading history, why or why not). 

Louis feels bone-tired as he leaves the classroom, gleeful inside at the prospect of taking the Google Drive folder with this class’s name on it and putting it in the digital bin when he gets home. 

There’s no snow falling tonight, and it’s warm enough that most of what was on the ground has melted into slush and poured into storm drains. Louis kicks it as he walks, relishing in the splashing noises and then regretting it as slush hits his ankles and goes down his shoes. 

He’s walking past the library on his way to the bus when he sees — stretched out on a bench in front of the library with his bookbag under his head and his feet hanging off the end — Harry. 

“Oh my god,” Louis says, quickening his pace and walking over to him. Harry’s curls are unmistakable, even though most of him is buried under his coat. Louis leans down, touching him lightly because he  _ knows _ how Harry feels about being touched, knows it’s a sensory only-sometimes thing. 

“Harry,” he says. “Harry if you’re going to sleep on campus you have to at least do it inside where it’s  _ warm.” _

Harry wakes with a start, sitting up and blinking, looking around with confusion. “Louis…?” he asks. “Oh my god Louis did I fall  _ asleep?” _

“Did you not  _ mean to?” _ Louis asks. 

_ “No _ I was just going to lay down for a minute because I had just missed the bus and I didn’t want to stand at the bus stop.” Harry slaps a hand to his face. “Oh my god Louis I fell  _ asleep _ on a  _ bench _ I could have been  _ killed!” _

“Well, you could have been pick pocketed,” Louis says. “I don’t think murder would be likely in the middle of campus. What time did you fall asleep?”

“Uh…” Harry pauses. “Four?”

“Well okay,” Louis says. “So you’ve only been asleep… two hours.”

_ “Oh my god.” _

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Louis asks, standing and holding out his hand for if Harry wants help getting up.

“Uh,” says Harry. “Uh. No.” He takes Louis’ hand and leverages to stand up.

“Okay rephrasing,” Louis says. “How much sleep did you get this week in total?”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” Harry says. His curls are sticking up in all crazy directions as he stands. 

“But your exams are over so now that I can make sure you get home safely you’re going to sleep for forty eight hours, roughly?” Louis asks.

“Maybe,” says Harry. “Oh god, I’m sure I failed that last exam. I was so tired! How could I have possibly remembered anything?”

“Pure adrenaline, I assume,” Louis says. Harry hasn’t let go of his hand since he stood up, and Louis doesn’t mention it, just starts walking toward the bus stop. “I’m sure you did great,” he says. “And if you didn’t, then that’s fine too, because your worth doesn’t lie in your academics.”

Harry follows as Louis sort of tugs him along, which seems pretty reasonable considering Louis assumes he’s still in a  _ very _ sleep deprived state. 

That’s okay. Louis’ tired but he’ll make sure they get home alright.


	19. December 19th - Intermission

_ Lewis —  _

_ I can’t go to the zoo with you this weekend because the house is ten seconds from falling down, both physically and emotionally, and I simply must be there for my roommates. _

_ You understand, I’m sure. _

_ Also, I am writing you this letter because Zayn said that he would let me use his cool wax seal thing so I’m going to slide this letter under your door all mysteriously like we’re in a movie. _

_ Love ya, Niall _

_ P.S. I want a date to the escape room for Christmas _

— 

Hello! My name is Niall, and this is a diary entry in an otherwise completely empty notebook that I kept because I have several empty notebooks because someday I assume I will be famous for my diaries once I actually bother to write them. 

(I am actually writing this because Harry says that writing is good for learning what you really think about a subject, and I want to prove to him that I really,  _ really _ think that he should let me put vinegar in a pressure washer like Lewis suggested to clean the ghosts out of our basement).

So today is Saturday, and I woke up on a loft bed, as I  _ always _ do, but then I remembered that my room is very wet, and I was not  _ in _ my room, I was in the loft bed above Zayn. 

Which is fun, it’s like a cool sleepover except Zayn and Louis’ room is  _ very _ bright because it’s east-facing and has huge windows without curtains, so I couldn’t exactly go back to sleep, but I didn’t want to get up, because what do I look like, an early bird? Lewis wasn’t going to come over and make me breakfast until at least one in the afternoon so I had some time to kill. 

_ Anyway, _ the fun thing about two lofts in a room is that it’s like having a mini second floor with you and the other person sleeping on  _ their _ loft, so I decided instead to just lay in bed and stare at Louis until my psychic waves dealt him so much psychic damage that he woke up.

Well my psychic waves were not all that strong today apparently so I started throwing things at him instead. Pillows, stuffed animals, you know. He woke up when I hit him in the balls with this purple platypus that Lewis gave me for our 26th date, so now that platypus has  _ two _ great memories associated with it. 

_ Anyway _ Louis was no fun once he actually woke up because he was on his phone for  _ forever _ and refused to play catch with my stuffed animals so eventually I  _ did _ give up and get up. Fuck Louis I’ll make my own fun.

Lewis actually came over at noon because I texted him that I was bored so many times,  _ and _ he made me waffles! But the waffle maker wasn’t turning on so we just poured the waffle batter into one of those Christmas cookie sheets for spritz cookies? The ones where it’s like a cupcake tin but instead it’s cookie shapes? Anyway. They were mini christmas tree-shaped waffles and I  _ will _ do it again. If we can get the tin clean.

We might not be able to get the tin clean.

So Lewis asked me if I was going home for Christmas and I told him that  _ he _ was my home because I am the  _ perfect _ boyfriend. But then he was like I know that babe but are you going home to your family and I was like oh ya no, because I got a gig for Christmas Eve and Christmas playing Irish Santa Claus and it pays  _ so well _ that I’ll just go home for New Years. Also I plan on taking Lewis with me and proposing to him, but he doesn’t know that.

In hindsight I should make sure he’s free to go home with me on New Years. 

So Lewis and I had our Saturday date like we always do, and we sat on the wingbacks on the porch and let me just say Louis had a  _ genius idea _ telling us to put them on the porch, because now no one can complain when we make out for hours,  _ and _ people driving by honk at us. I assume they’re all jealous. 

I was telling Lewis about everything going on with the house (the bleach froze to the bottom of the bin out back before it could drain all the way out so  _ that’s _ an issue but also kind of cool, the cellar definitely has ghosts in it, that pipe burst and now there’s a hole in the ceiling, and Harry won’t let me put anything else down the sink but it’s starting to stop up again). 

And Lewis is the perfect boyfriend so he told me that he’ll fix all of it for me but that if we want to get rid of cellar ghosts, what we need is vinegar. He said ghosts  _ hate _ vinegar.

Now I don’t have a lot of experience with ghosts. I’m from Ireland, you know, so I have experience mostly with fae and also some leprechauns. But Lewis says this has worked in every house he’s been in. Fill up a spritzer with vinegar and  _ puff puff _ no more ghosts. But I said, Lewis, the cellar is  _ very _ haunted. Definitely have seen more than one ghost there. So  _ he _ says maybe use a power washer instead of a water spritzer. Genius, right?

I would have gone and bought one right there but because of  _ circumstances _ I’ve promised that I will talk over big purchases at  _ house meeting _ from now on. Plus, Harry was still asleep. Also, Harry  _ is _ still asleep as I write this. He has been asleep for close to 24 hours now. I do respect it, but I also want to power wash the ghosts. 

So Lewis and I finally stop making out on the porch because our hula hooping neighbour comes out to hula hoop and that’s just not a good makeout environment, so we go to Tesco instead to buy popcorn because I thought we could string popcorn like in the movies, but the only kind we could find was those tins of caramel corn. Figured that would work though and we wouldn’t even need to pop it, so we bought like five tins and brought them home and Lewis said he had to use the loo so while he was upstairs I started clearing space on the sofa for us to sit. 

But  _ then _ there’s a VERY LOUD NOISE like so fucking loud and it’s because Lewis has  _ fallen down the stairs  _ and I’m like  _ oh my god are you okay _ and he said he was  _ peachy keen _ so I thought he might have gotten a concussion (he was lying on the ground but he gave me a thumbs up but it  _ was _ upside down because he was upside down).

And I asked him  _ why _ he fell down the stairs and he said it was because he wanted to make a joke about falling from heaven and pretend to trip but then he for real tripped because our stairs are very steep and anyway, the point is, he may or may not have busted a hole in the wall with his foot when he fell. 

I didn’t want Harry to be made at me when he woke up so I grabbed one of the paintings on the wall (the one that’s all abstract lines that Harry swears is a giraffe) and hung it up over the hole but it’s at an awkward height so it might be kind of obvious. 

It turns out we needed needle and thread, not just yarn, to string up popcorn so we just ended up eating it. Greg and Louis joined us too (Zayn was off with his boyfriend doing the dirty probably), but Louis was  _ so  _ distracted all night he didn’t even laugh at the funny parts of  _ Love Actually _ like he has the last four times it was on. I know it’s because he’s totally lost without Harry, like he looks like my cat did after we accidentally threw her favourite piece of string in the fire.

Anyway I keep trying to tell Harry to just ask Louis out, but Harry insists that Louis wouldn’t be interested but also that he doesn’t trust me not to be lurking behind a bush when he does.

I mean, I will be. But why would that stop him?


	20. December 20th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THIS IS A MESSAGE SPECIFICALLY FOR LAUREN. ACTUALLY IT'S FOR EVERYBODY BUT ESPECIALLY FOR LAUREN BECAUSE I KNOW I HAVE LINKED THE BEST CHRISTMAS SONG OF ALL TIME IN SO MANY PLACES.
> 
> BUT HERE, HAVE IT AGAIN.
> 
> [GO LISTEN TO THE BEST CHRISTMAS SONG OF ALL TIME.](https://youtu.be/aIFdJsLRkRM)

_ My fearful friend Christopher, _

_ I do not know why you do not trust me. I have no reason to buy your mum anything other than the finest presents. She and I are actually good friends, you know.  _

_ This isn’t like all those dares where I have you go into the shops and yell a little — you would be giving a present to my mum too! We would have equal opportunities to make Christmas go tits up, and so we would both behave! _

_ Either way, I believe I am owed this indulgence, because you are a happily married man and yet here I am, alone again as Edmund has taken off into the night. Absconded with my brand new copy of The Canterville Ghost. I had not even gotten to read it yet! _

_ No, perhaps love is not for me. _

_ Yours, Scott _

— 

Harry slept, more or less, all of Saturday.

And no matter  _ what _ Niall was trying to imply, Louis was  _ not _ bothered by it. It was  _ good _ that Harry was sleeping that much! He was definitely so entirely terribly sleep deprived and  _ needed _ the… approximately 26 hours of sleep that he got.

But now it’s Sunday, and apparently Harry is  _ done _ sleeping. 

Louis feels eighty percent lighter, with exams being over and only having to worry about his internship now. He’s, like, at least sixty percent sure he didn’t fail anything. And now that he doesn’t have to worry about keeping his space in the house, he’s coming to the realisation that passing classes is all that matters now. As long as he doesn’t fail anything, he’ll get his degree, right? Even librarians don’t look at prior grades when hiring… he assumes.

So he’s feeling  _ so _ good, and Christmas is  _ almost _ here, and the house is a  _ wreck _ but there are Christmas decorations sort of covering a lot of the worst bits! 

The first thing that happens when he comes downstairs is that Harry offers him pizza. 

“I made it this morning,” Harry says. He’s wearing dungarees, which is very different than his usual Christmas jumper and leggings. “I also bought ice cream, in four different flavours, so if you want any of that it’s in the kitchen. I couldn’t fit all of them in the freezer so I took out all the frozen vegetables and I’m making a stew in the slow cooker. 

“Wow,” says Louis. “That’s impressive considering it’s…” he looks at his phone. “Ten in the morning.”

Zayn and Liam are on one end of the sofa, snuggled under a blanket with pizza and ice cream between them, looking very sleepy. 

“Well I’m used to waking up early for class,” Harry says. “Or not going to sleep at all. And then I slept all those hours yesterday, so my body has  _ no _ idea what’s been going on.” 

When Harry smiles wide he gets dimples. Louis stares. 

“So I also just got back from the store with a nail gun. I’m going to put a temporary ceiling in the bedroom, too.”

“Do you know how to  _ use _ a nail gun?” Louis asks.

“I looked up a tutorial on youtube,” Harry says, shrugging. “Looks pretty simple.”

“Okay…” Louis says. Of all the people in the house, he trusts Harry with a nail gun more than anyone else, but he’s not sure he actually trusts  _ anyone _ with a nail gun.”

“Once Niall and Greg are up, I’m going to treat the lofts for wormwood too,” Harry says.

“For  _ what?” _ Louis chokes. “There’s  _ what _ in my bed?”

“Oh it’s fine, they’re new lofts.” Harry passes him by and picks up a plastic bag that likely holds a nail gun. “This is just to be safe, because we never finished the wood and I noticed some holes.”

“I do  _ not _ feel good about that,” Louis says. “I mean, please treat it. Please do not let there be worms in my bed.”

“They’re beetles, actually,” Harry says. He starts up the stairs. “Pizza in the kitchen!”

Then he disappears. 

Louis looks to Liam and Zayn. Zayn seems to have dozed off.

“My neighbours were having a party last night,” Liam says by way of explanation, voice quiet. “He didn’t sleep much.”

“Were they paying you back for all the times you two were  _ doing it?” _ Louis asks.

Liam grimaces. He makes a  _ maybe _ sort of motion with his head.

Louis snorts and makes his way into the kitchen.

The kitchen is  _ sparkling. _

There are no dishes in the sink.

There is no standing water on the floor.

The small picnic table that has been covered since he moved in with all sorts of junk is now completely clear, with only a slow cooker and a half eaten pizza.

Louis worries that Harry is too powerful and the only thing keeping him in check was classes.

He grabs a plate and cuts a slice. It looks gourmet, with white cheese and green things like basil maybe. It smells heavenly. 

He’s just about to take a bite when a  _ thunk _ sounds throughout the house, startling him into almost dropping it.

Then another  _ thunk thunk thunk. _

Ah. The nail gun.

Well, Greg and Niall won’t be asleep for long then. He should probably take two slices before they find out what they’re missing.

— 

By afternoon, there is a patch on the ceiling. Also, every squeaky floorboard in the house has been sealed. There are no piles of  _ formerly wet things _ in the living room any longer. 

Harry is pacing.

“I could clean the cellar,” he says. “Or move everything out of the front room and mop, that needs to happen. Maybe I should pour hot water into the bins and melt any bleach still down there.”

Louis has been watching him pace with increasing concern. “Maybe you should sit down,” he says. “Because I have not seen you do that today.”

At some point Harry had put on wellies. He’s wearing a thin Christmas jumper and dungarees tucked into bright yellow wellies. His curls are wild.

“I’ve wanted to get things done for  _ months,” _ Harry says. “This is my chance! I can’t  _ waste _ it!”

Liam and Zayn have retreated to Zayn’s bed. Niall is out with Lewis. Greg is asleep on the sofa. They are all no help.

“You are going to  _ collapse _ at this rate,” Louis says. “Have you had coffee?”

Harry’s eyes light up.  _ “No,” _ he says with excitement. “I’m going to make  _ coffee.” _

_ “No,” _ shouts Louis. “That is the  _ opposite _ of what I meant.”

He can see that the idea has already taken hold, though, and is powerless to stop it. Soon, Harry is going to be unstoppable. He’s probably going to clean the whole town. 

Louis resigns himself to trying to keep Harry from rebuilding the whole house, and follows him.


	21. December 21st

_ My good friend Christopher, _

_ Excellent news! They have started rebuilding my bridge! By summer perhaps I shall have a proper monument again! I’m sure you will come out here to celebrate with me once again, and not abandon me because you have your own family now.  _

_ Also of news — I have found a gentleman who may be worthy of my affections. We have spoken on two different occasions and he has not run for the hills, and I cannot afford to be obtuse about such matters at this stage in my life. Please send your blessings accordingly. _

_ Yours, Scott _

_ —  _

It’s the final day of the Scott and Christopher project at Louis’ internship, and the last day before break. He’s just boxing up the last of the letters, and it’s a bittersweet feeling. His finding aid is already finished and waiting for review, sitting neatly on his supervisor’s desk waiting for her approval. He’s going to have something concrete in the library system that will be searchable! Anyone looking into obscure poets may come across his finding aid! It’s exhilarating, really, to think about it like that. 

Disappointingly, the snow outside has almost all thawed. If Harry would have left it, the frozen bleach in the bottom of the bin would have been melted by today. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky when Louis had gotten to the library, and it had felt  _ nothing _ like Christmas. 

He’s supposed to go home tomorrow, too.

And he’s  _ excited  _ about it, he is! It’s his birthday and it’s Christmas and he gets to see his family after an  _ extremely _ stressful term. He’s  _ so _ ready to just sit down in his mum’s house and become one with the furniture as his siblings get in loud arguments around him. 

So, he’s excited about it. He’s very ready to go home.

He’s just also… going to miss his own house?

His roommates, odd as they are? The draughty way the house feels like it’s going to fall apart any moment? And the way it is  _ actively _ falling apart at  _ every _ moment? That’s not something he should miss, but somehow the idea of leaving now feels like he’s going to miss things. Miss experiences!

Like the house falling down, maybe.

Louis snorts out a laugh quietly to himself as he closes a box and affixes the label that he’s triple checked is correct. It’s not like anyone else is going to be at the house. Everyone’s going home for Christmas, he’s sure. 

“Liam,” he says, looking up. “You and Zayn. Are you going home for Christmas?”

Liam has his big thick studious glasses on. The ones he only breaks out when he’s  _ very _ puzzled over something. “Of course, yeah,” he says. “Zayn is coming to Christmas with my family, and we’re spending New Years at his parents’.” He smiles wistfully. “Last year was when he kissed me for the first time.”

“Okay, gross,” Louis says. “Don’t taunt your single friends like that.”

Liam looks concerned. “You’re still single?” he asks. 

“Way to rub it in. Alright, I see when I’m not wanted,” Louis says, getting up and strolling past Liam in the direction of the supply closet. He needs a cart to transport his finished boxes into the vault. 

There’s a rickety old wooden one that he pulls out, with a wonky wheel that squeaks  _ and _ spins. Impressive. He wheels it over and loads up the six boxes he’s been working on for so long.

“Are you finished?” Liam asks. “Like,  _ finished _ finished?”

“As soon as my finding aid is up on the website, I sure am,” Louis says, feeling proud.

“Wow,” Liam breathes. “You’ve worked on that collection for so long.”

“And didn’t find any dead rats in it or anything.” Louis wheels the cart toward the door. “Sort of anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

He pushes it through the double doors and across the hall to the vault, sliding his key card to let himself in. It’s cold in a welcome, familiar way as he wheels it down the shelves, toward the designated spot he cleared weeks ago.

A librarian two rows over startles him as he passes by, because  _ god _ everyone here is silent, especially compared to a squeaky card. Louis will probably die of a heart attack in the vault someday. 

He unloads the boxes slowly, carefully. The end of an era, in a way. The end of a project, at least. And the end of term. Even Liam and Zayn are going home for Christmas. 

It’s not like it’s that long until January. Louis won’t have that long to miss them for. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	22. December 22nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of the tags on this fic make you worried pls check the notes at the bottom of this chapter before reading!

Left forgotten in a box in the attic of an old house there is a small collection of letters. They’re wrinkled and torn and in an almost illegible messy scrawl, each one of them written to they same person. 

_ Scott, _

_ I don’t know why you keep trying to talk me into these things. I know better than to let you get a gift for my mum. You have never let a chance to cause chaos pass you by, and I have been at the receiving end of that chaos too many times. _

_ That being said, I do not have a Christmas gift for her because I cannot figure out what she would like. I also know exactly what your mum would love — I saw it in a shop window just last week. _

_ So just this once, JUST THIS ONCE I will agree to your plan. Please do not give my mum something inappropriate. I WILL expose you even if I expose myself in the process.  _

_ Your closest friend, Christopher _

— 

Louis isn’t home when it happens. 

Louis isn’t home when it happens, and he will forever be both grateful to have missed it, and at the same time terribly guilt-ridden that he wasn’t there.

He gets the phone call from Niall. It’s almost six, and he’s been in the uber for about thirty minutes, almost to the train station. 

He gets the call, and suddenly it feels like in the movies, because he’s yelling at the uber driver that they have to change directions and he needs a ride to the hospital and  _ dear god _ he’s sorry for doing this please don’t rate him badly but  _ please _ the hospital as soon as possible.

Niall says all sorts of encouraging and comforting things and Louis doesn’t register them in the slightest. All that’s going through his mind as the car makes an about-turn is that he has to get to the hospital. Harry is in the hospital and he has to get to the hospital, he has to be there  _ right now. _

He doesn’t know how long the ride takes but it feels like years, of course it does. When they finally arrive he thanks the driver profusely as he’s trying to pull his bags out and also get Niall on the other end of the phone so he can figure out where Harry  _ is. _

_ “Calm down,”  _ Niall says when he picks up. 

Louis swears at him. 

_ “We’re on the third floor all the way down the blue end. But it’s fine, everyone just keeps telling me he’s fine, please do not freak out.” _

“I am  _ freaking out _ Niall,” Louis snaps into the phone as he rushes through the sliding glass doors. “You cannot tell me not to! Harry is in the hospital and that’s not okay!”

_ “He’s almost done with the surgery! That’s what just told me! And it’s all going fine!” _

“I think you might be lying to calm me down,” Louis says, pushing his way through the fire doors into the stairwell. 

_ “I think if I were thinking of doing that, I wouldn’t have called you at all. This happened to Lewis last year and he’s fine!” _

“Lewis got his appendix removed?” Louis asks, panting as he takes the stairs two at a time. 

Lewis’ voice crackles through the phone.  _ “Halloween party,”  _ he says.  _ “Danced too hard and ruptured my appendix. Totally worth it.” _

“That is… a weird coincidence,” Louis pants. “And sounds like something that would happen to Lewis.”

_ “I know!”  _ Lewis crows.  _ “But this means I’m a master at this! I’ve got no appendix  _ **_and_ ** _ I have a cool scar!” _

A scar. Harry is going to have a scar. He hates wearing trousers because he doesn’t like pressure around his waist, is he going to be okay with a scar? Is it going to feel weird? 

Louis emerges onto the third floor and finds the blue hallway veering off to his left. He’s slowed down a bit now, tired from the stairs mostly. 

He hangs up the call as Lewis prattles on about being a superhero or something, because he can see them at the end of the hall, seated in an open waiting area. As he gets closer he realises it’s  _ everybody. _

“How am I the last one here?” he whines, sinking into a seat and dropping his bags.

“Because the rest of us were all home,” Greg says. “I mean, the EMS only let one of us actually go in the truck so Liam got here first because Harry said he was the ‘calm one’ whatever that means. But the rest of us drove after them.”

Liam smiles at Louis, but Louis also notices the death grip he seems to have on Zayn’s hand. 

“Freaking out internally the whole time?” Louis asks.

Liam nods vigorously.

It helps a little, being surrounded by five friends who also all care about Harry. Louis puts his head in his hands and groans. “He was supposed to be going to Spain tonight! Wait—” he looks up. “Where is his family?”

“Spain,” Niall says, nodding. “And they’ve been hit with that massive snow storm, so they’re not sure how long until they can get here.”

“Oh my god,” groans Louis.

There’s silence for a bit, just the hospital sounds going on around them. Louis realises he should text his mum… something.

“Styles?”

Louis looks up. A nurse is standing there, looking a little uncertain as to who he should be addressing. 

“Yes,” says Niall. “That’s us.”

“You’re all… immediate family?” the man asks, eyes narrowed.

“That’s right,” Niall says, sounding  _ entirely _ confident. “We’re adopted.”

“All of us,” Lewis agrees.

“Right,” the nurse says. “I know that’s a lie, but I’m going to pretend it isn’t.” he glances at his clipboard. “Harry’s been moved down a floor and he’s just waking up. I’ll be happy to lead you to him.”

“So he’s okay?” Louis asks, standing. “Everything went well?”

“Perfectly,” the man says with a smile. “Very routine operation, nothing unexpected.”

He leads them down, taking the lift (a tight squeeze with all seven of them) and explaining the recovery procedure.

“He’ll have to stay overnight twenty four to seventy two hours, depending on how things go,” he says. “But there’s every chance he’ll be home for Christmas.”

Down some hallways and around some corners and the man motions to a door. “It’s going to be a tight fit,” he says. “Probably best if you don’t  _ all _ stay too long, it could overwhelm him.”

Lewis is already brushing past him into the room, and Louis rushes after. It’s small and brightly lit and steril, and there Harry is, sitting up in bed wearing a hospital gown with his hair pulled into a tight bun. 

His eyes grow wide as they enter. “Oh my god,” he says. 

“Hey Harry, how you feeling?” Greg asks.

“Feeling like you should have at least taken turns,” Harry says. He sounds a little groggy but lucid. “Oh my  _ god.” _

“Why, when all six of your  _ adopted brothers _ could be here for you?” Niall asks. 

“This is so embarassing,” Harry says. 

Louis internally breathes a sigh of relief. It might even be an external sigh of relief. Just seeing Harry here, awake and talking like everything is normal, is first of all such a pragmatic  _ Harry _ way to go about it, but second of all so very reassuring. 

“Did you know I  _ also _ fell down the stairs this week?” Lewis asks. “Just a fun fact that connects us.”

“I think your appendix didn’t burst from it though,” Harry says, sitting back. 

Lewis looks absolutely  _ delighted _ to inform Harry that, “That’s because  _ I already had it removed!” _

There’s two visitor chairs which have already been claimed by Zayn and Liam (who both look moderate states of sick), so Louis perches against the windowsill. He drops his bags on the floor and fishes out his phone.

**Louis:** _ Mum, something’s come up. I’ll call you soon, but I think I won’t be making it home until after Christmas. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Harry in the hospital for appendicitis. Totally non-graphic, he is completely fine, chapter has moderate amounts of stressing out about friend being in hospital!
> 
> Also you will never want to attend another halloween party after you've been to one where someone burst their appendix from doing the dougie


	23. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be real, I have very little say over where this story is going at this point. I am not in charge here.

_ Scott, _

_ I trust that you will bring your new gentleman caller for tea when you arrive on Christmas day, as I know that you have been talking about him with a consistent sort of fervency to my wife. There is nothing wrong with that, except that you tell HER all of the nice, polite in-good-company sorts of things, and then you tell me about the size of him and other things that I never asked to know, but know that you will tell anyway.  _

_ Yes, I understand he is very large and you are very satisfied. I might even welcome such insight except that I will have to sit across from him at Christmas dinner and try to keep myself from picturing such things on the say of our Lord’s birth.  _

_ I am very happy for you, though. I hope that he can cook better than you can, for otherwise I fear that both of you will end up moving in with Ria and I for want of a good meal. _

_ With this letter I send the gift for your mum. I know that you are a lousy cheater but DO NOT peek first. _

_ Your closest friend, Christopher _

— 

There is a terrible conflict going on within Louis.

On the one hand, visitor’s hours started at eleven at the hospital.

On the other hand, he  _ knows _ that Harry would not appreciate being bombarded with company without warning and for exceedingly long amounts of time.

So… he’s waiting until one. He’s gathered what he thinks are Harry’s favorite jumpers and fuzzy socks (and Niall’s platypus, which was added to the bag when he wasn’t looking) and is considering sneaking in buttered noodles. He doesn’t know if he actually  _ needs _ to sneak it or if Harry’s allowed to eat whatever he wants, but it’s better to be sneaky and safe than sorry.

In the meantime, an odd sort of energy has settled in at The Saurus. No one has openly said anything about it, but the house was supposed to be empty by now. Everyone had plans to be home for Christmas in one form or another, and now they’re all just… still here.

And busy.

It’s snowing; the storm coming up from the south has finally hit, although it’s not  _ too _ bad yet. There are thick, fluffy flakes blanketing the outside world and the windows rattle with the occasional winds, but the temperature is still high enough that everything could turn to rain with the drop of a hat. 

So everyone is inside, but the windows are uncovered for once, putting the snow in view, and the heater is out in the living room again. 

Liam slept over last night, taking up one of the sofas like the gentleman he is. Lewis slept over as well, but he just crawled into the loft with Niall. Harry’s repaired the ceiling in their own room but no one’s moved back there yet, so waking up today Louis found  _ two _ people staring at him which was  _ wildly _ disconcerting. 

Liam keeps going down into the cellar and appearing with more boxes of Christmas decor. There’s so much Christmas decor. Niall and Lewis have hung Christmas lights in every room on the ground floor, as well as going up the stairs and, for whatever wild reason, in the loo. There are three Christmas trees, now. A good normal one, but also one that is six feet but only about two feet wide, and one that’s fat but only three feet tall. They look ridiculous and no one can remember where they came from, but now there’s a tree for every room downstairs (and the miniature tree has… been moved upstairs next to the bathtub).

“There’s Christmas mats in front of the doors and fake electric candles everywhere and a box of very strongly scented  _ real _ candles as well. Greg has taken it upon himself to find homes for all the candles (near the dinosaur figurines, in the windows, under the chairs), as well at the miscellaneous other decorations — a stuffed animal that looks like a llama with a blanket on its back bearing the star of David, a wooden three dimensional carving of Santa’s face, matryoshka nesting dolls that reveal the entire cast of The Nutcracker… 

“Liam,” says Louis when Liam brings up yet another box. “I think you have to stop.”

Liam looks at him with wide eyes. “But this one has a Christmas village in it,” he says. “And there’s a bunch more boxes down there, still.”

“Christmas village!” shouts Lewis. “We can put them above the cabinets in the kitchen!”

“Or going up the stairs!” agrees Niall.

_ “Nothing _ on the stairs,” says Zayn. He’s been sitting quietly in the middle of the chaos through all of this, working on his chain mail again.

“Right, agreed, stairs are off-limits,” Louis says. “But Liam, I feel like this isn’t our Christmas stuff? You’ve brought up like seven boxes and no one seems to be claiming any of it as theirs. Are you sure you haven’t accidentally burrowed into someone else’s house?”

Liam looks concerned. “I’ve only been going back to that room that you guys showed me the other day,” he says. “These are all from the front end of the cellar.”

“I just—“

Niall, who has been going through another box in the front room, interrupts them. “Stockings!” He holds up big, fancy, plush stockings. “Look!”

_ “Whose?” _ asks Louis. “Do they have names on them?”

Niall drags the box to the coffee table, gently pushing the small ceramic christmas tree/advent calendar aside. The stockings are all wildly different sizes and styles, but they all have embroidered initials across the top. 

“NJH… LMC…” Niall frowns. “GJAM?”

“Greg James Alan Milward,” says Greg, coming over. “Although I don’t remember seeing that before.”

“HES, LJP… LWT,” Niall frowns and glances at Louis.

“William,” says Louis. He doesn’t know what emotion he’s feeling, seeing his own initials on a stocking from the cellar.

“ZJM, SRM… CFR? RJH?” 

“Those are definitely not ours,” says Louis.

“But they have all our initials!” argues Niall.

“Even yours,” says Lewis. “And you’ve only just gotten here!”

“But those last three are  _ clearly _ someone else’s!” Louis argues.

“The ghosts,” says Greg. “Gotta be.”

Everyone looks around at each other.

Except Zayn, who is still concentrated on his chain mail.

“I’m not  _ not _ going to hang up ghost stockings,” says Niall.

“I wouldn’t want to upset the ghosts,” says Greg.

“Is it an offering or a warning?” asks Liam. “Does this mean they’re mad at me?”

“Maybe… a gift?” says Louis tentatively. “Or we’re all about to die. Is there a gas leak?”

Greg runs and checks the kitchen. “Burners are all off,” he says. “I think we’re fine.”

“Well we’re not going to just  _ leave  _ them there,” says Niall. “I’ll get the hooks. We can hang them above the fireplace.”

“We don’t have a fireplace,” Louis says. 

“We do,” says Lewis. “I took it out of a box about ten minutes ago, see?”

Louis looks where Lewis is pointing. It’s about two feet high and made of what looks like felt, with brightly colored felted flames in the middle of it. “Alright,” he says. “Everything happening here is either really sweet or really sinister but it’s almost Christmas so I’m going to go with sweet.” His phone, on the coffee table, lights up with another text from his sisters (who he’s been sending pictures to all day). It’s almost one. “But either way, I’m going to go bring Harry some fresh clothes and maybe when I get back all these decorations will have magically disappeared again.”

“Ooh, I want to come,” says Niall. 

“And me!” agrees Lewis, putting his hand up.

“I’ll drive,” says Greg.

“I have the bigger car…” suggests Liam. Zayn nods.

Louis sighs.

Okay, so  _ all _ of them are going to visit Harry. 

That’s fine. They’re all friends and Harry will, well, he won’t appreciate the attention maybe but he’ll appreciate their friendship.

(Louis thinks maybe he should have just snuck out). 


	24. December 24th

_ Scott, _

_ I cannot believe you. I have just had to have the MOST awkward conversation with my own mum about the gift I supposedly got her. Being friends with you is like being friends with a fox! Either you’re nice and fluffy or you’re screaming in my window at three in the morning as you terrorize my bins.  _

_ I got your mum something NICE! I even asked Ria to make sure it was something that she would like! I know you will claim that your present was rich in history because, as your note explained, it was a miniature recreation of Queen Catherine’s chair, but I got your mum perfume!  _

_ Anyroad, I expect you for dinner still, please come with or without your gentleman as I cannot tell if you are in love or not at the moment. If you are not, I have a friend I would like to introduce you to as I believe you will get along very well. _

_ Scott you are a terror to have as a friend and I hope that eventually I am able to get you back for the truly frightening tricks you pull, but it is almost Christmas and I shall have you know that every day I spend in your presence is an honour, and you will surely go on to do great things, even aside from having your name on a bridge. _

_ Happy Christmas, please apologise to my mum.  _

_ Christopher _

— 

It is Christmas Eve.

It is Louis’ birthday.

These are two facts that Louis acknowledges to himself before even opening his eyes.

It is Christmas Eve and it is Louis’ birthday and Harry is coming home today. 

Eyes still closed, because once he opens his eyes he will officially be  _ awake, _ Louis gropes around his blankets for his phone. It’ll definitely be full of birthday messages from family and requests to facetime and  _ hopefully _ digital gift cards he can use to get Starbucks before they close for the holiday. 

Finally locating it, he squints one eye open.

Then he jumps, hitting his head against the wall instead of the ceiling for once. 

Because Lewis and Niall are  _ right there, very close to his face. _

“Holy  _ shit,” _ shrieks Louis. 

Lewis and Niall are clearly standing on something, because they’re just tall enough for their faces to be peeking over Louis’ mattress, matching terrible grins on their faces.

_ “Happy birthday!” _ they shout in unison. 

It’s terrible.

“I hate you,” Louis groans. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A  _ very _ long time,” says Lewis.

“I  _ really _ have to piss,” says Niall.

_ “What is wrong with you,”  _ Louis intones. 

“It’s your birthday!”

“And it’s Christmas eve!”

“And you’re here!”

“With us!”

“Instead of with your family!”

“We want you to be appreciated!”

“Happy birthday!”

The screen in Louis’ hand lights up as a message comes in from his family, one of what looks like very many as he glances at it.

“Right,” he says, rubbing his face. “Can my birthday involve you guys being normal until after I’ve had breakfast?”

“No!” they shout in unison. 

“Lewis made you breakfast,” Niall says.

“Set off the smoke alarm,” says Lewis. “Can’t believe you didn’t wake up for that.”

“Greg woke up for that,” says Niall. “He ate your burnt breakfast.”

“And then I made you another one,” says Lewis. 

“Also, Zayn got you coffee.”

“From Starbucks!”

“Because you keep talking about Starbucks but not actually getting it.”

“But he says he knows what you like from  _ weather club.” _

“Fucking dorks.”

“Please leave,” groans Louis. “Thank you happy Christmas Eve please let me wake up in peace.”

“Be downstairs in ten minutes!” shouts Niall as both of them step back.

“Or else Greg might eat your breakfast again.”

Then they’re gone and blessed silence has returned. Louis glances down at his phone. Thirteen missed messages from siblings.

One missed message from Harry.

Louis scrambles to open that one.

**Harry:** _ Hey! So you should not feel any obligation to do this, but I’ve been given the all-clear to leave, and I wondered if you might be willing to pick me up. Can catch an Uber if it’s too much trouble, though. Don’t worry about it! _

It is perhaps only in that moment, as he feels himself blush just from reading a text message, that Louis realises he is in deep.

Jumping down off the loft with a heavy thud that would certainly alert the roommates he was awake if they didn’t surely know already, he makes his way to the room next door to throw on something that loosely resembles real clothes instead of sleepwear, and then next door to that to brush his teeth.

The sink isn’t draining too well at the moment.

When he’s done, he makes his way almost tentatively downstairs, because Lewis and Niall are intimidating at worst, and is not disappointed with the scene in front of him.

The house is  _ very _ decorated for Christmas. It’s incredible. But on top of that, everyone is wearing… party hats. And there is a plate of bacon on the table.

A chorus of  _ “Happy birthday!” _ greet him as he rounds the corner, from pretty much everyone with varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“So my birthday breakfast is… bacon?” Louis asks, sitting between Niall and Greg. It’s a tight squeeze with Lewis on the sofa as well.

“I made eggs too,” Lewis says. “Greg ate those.”

“I did  _ not,” _ Greg says. “Well, I mean, I did. But I only ate the burnt ones!”

“And then I ran out of Eggs,” says Lewis. And no one in this house owns bread, so no toast. I found some beans, but thought they would be pretty ridiculous without toast.”

“But we got you coffee!” Liam says, handing over a  _ very _ large Starbucks drink.

“What’s in it?” Louis asks.

“Zayn told the barista to make the best drink possible and then tipped her a tenner,” says Liam. 

Louis looks with concern at the cup. 

He raises it to his lips.

He tastes the drink.

It tastes like he’s sixteen again, trying Starbucks for the first time. He can’t identify the taste but it’s amazing.

“Jesus,” he says.

The bacon is really good too, it turns out. Lewis is not a bad cook.

When Louis is done, Niall stands. “So,” he says. “We ready to go?”

“Go… where?” Louis asks.

“To get Harry!”

“Uh,” says Louis. “I mean, I feel like we don’t want him to be overwhelmed.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lewis says. “I borrowed my brother’s van, so we can all go in the same car!”

“That is probably the opposite of what I meant,” Louis says, but everyone else is already standing.

“It’s entirely no use,” Zayn says, leaning over to him. “I have already tried to talk them out of it.”

Louis texts Harry to warn him.

**Louis:** _ I am very sorry _ _   
_ **Louis:** _ Everyone is coming _ _   
_ **Louis:** __ I am unable to stop them

**Harry:** _ I believe you tried and that is what counts _

The van has the number for a catering service on the side, and Louis ends up with one of the seats in the very back. Lewis, with control of the music, puts on the soundtrack to  _ Muppet Christmas Carol. _

It’s a lot. There is singing along.

They pull up to the front of the hospital just after Louis has texted to say they’ve arrived, and Harry appears out the doors moments later. He looks exasperated.

Greg slides open the back door, and Louis tries to not look  _ too  _ enthused, training his face into exasperation. 

“You guys are so embarrassing,” Harry says, gingerly stepping into the free seat. 

“But we missed you!” Greg yells.

“Yeah, we missed you!” chorus Lewis and Niall.

“Especially Louis,” Niall adds.

_ “Hey _ let’s get McDonalds,” says Lewis.

“I could eat,” says Liam.

Zayn nods.

“Dear Lord,” says Harry.

Louis reaches a hand out and just grazes Harry’s elbow, to get his attention in the loud car as they pull off. Harry turns back and smiles at him.

“I’m glad you’re home,” mouths Louis.

Harry nods, a tired smile that feels like it’s just for Louis on his face.

“Chicken nuggies!” shouts Lewis.


	25. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it's still the 25th where i am so IT COUNTS
> 
> HAPPY CHRISTMAS
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL
> 
> THANKS FOR READING

_ Scott M Collection _ _   
_ _ SPEC.LIB.R1 _

_ Scott M was born in Southampton on 28 March, 18**. He was a public figure who published daily short stories for decades. His personal life was published through these stories as a way to hide in plain sight, his life seen by the public as exciting enough that it could not possibly all be true. Scott lived with one nameless gentleman for many decades, and through the years intermittently with his best friend Christopher.  _

_ The Scott M Collection was the gift of Christopher S in 2009. _ _   
  
_

_ The Scott M Collection is organized into three general groupings:  _

_ Section One is primarily original works by Scott M. _ _   
_ _ Section Two is correspondence related to Scott M. _

_ Finding Aid completed by Louis Tomlinson _

— 

There are seven people sleeping in a room with four beds in a little old house on the corner of a street nearly an hour’s walk from campus in the middle of a snowstorm.

Louis is the only one who has a bed to himself, and when he wakes up it’s so bright outside, the morning sun is catching on the swirling snow that has yet to stop falling, gathering in the nooks and crannies of the windows and in the boughs of the trees. 

Someone is snoring, or maybe several someones. Louis sits up and remembers to duck low to avoid hitting his head. He unlocks his phone and reads the messages of love from his family, shooting off some texts and selfies promising them that he’ll be home soon, probably tomorrow if he can get a ticket.

He climbs out of bed using the kitchen stool that he’s put at the far post to make sure he doesn’t just come crashing to the floor, and tiptoes on creaky floorboards out of the room. 

He brushes his teeth and spits into the bath so that he doesn’t have to run the sink and fill up the basin, and he tiptoes to the room of dressers and puts on his coziest heather grey jumper with the red heart, and plaid pyjama bottoms.

He’s slow on the stairs and right the sideways painting on the way down, the one that’s obviously put up to hide the hole in the wall. He turns through the living room and ends up in the kitchen, where he fills the coffee pot up all the way with water and gets out the secret “good” coffee that Harry hides in the cabinet above the sink. 

He stands there, at the back window, as the coffee maker gurgles and hisses and grumbles away, and he watches the snow fall outside. It falls onto the rusty old truck and onto the bins and piles up in front of the door that he’s walked through every day after work for the past month. It blankets the world and even the busy street they sit at the corner of hasn’t managed to turn the snow to muck yet. 

Louis doesn’t have anything in the house that would be fit for a Christmas breakfast, but he knows how to make coffee and he knows that everyone appreciates coffee, so leans against the counter and watches it work. 

Eventually, the creaking of the stairs announce a roommate, and Louis looks up to see Harry coming through to the kitchen. His hair is a mess of untamed curls and he’s stifling a yawn as he pads through in a heavy jumper that falls to his knees and jangles as he walks (from the Christmas bells on it decorating the knitted outline of a tree) and thick fuzzy socks that go up almost to his knees. His legs are bare and hairy and he looks like the picture of an angel to Louis.

He acknowledges Louis with a nod and a yawn as he turns the knob on the oven and shuffles over to the refrigerator, pulling out tins of cinnamon rolls ready to be sliced and baked.

Harry’s just a little magic like that.

“Am I allowed some of your coffee?” Harry asks, his voice gravely and deep and quiet, breaking the silence of the morning.

“It’s the special coffee you said you save for morning house meetings,” Louis says. “I’m basically stealing from you.”

Harry smiles as he pops the tins of rolls and doles them out onto baking pans. His nose scrunches with the smile.

“So,” Louis says as he opens the oven. “Any word from your family?”

“They think the storm will pass by tomorrow,” Harry says. “Got me a new ticket for tomorrow evening.”

“That’s good!” Louis reaches for the mug cupboard. The mugs inside are double stacked and completely different in every way. “I’m glad a bit of your holiday can be saved.”

He takes out seven mugs, laying them out on the counter near the coffee pot. The coffee continues to drip.

“I’m glad, yeah,” Harry says. “I’m sure my mum has been going out of her mind.”

“I mean I was,” Louis says. “And I was  _ here.” _

Harry nods, his smile is still there, still soft. “Thanks,” he says. “You didn’t need to worry.”

“You fell down the stairs and your appendix exploded,” Louis says. “I did actually need to worry.”

Louis finally pours himself a cup, the coffeemaker hissing its rebuke and dripping onto the hot plate as soon as he pulls the pot off. He hands a second mug to Harry, and their fingers brush as Harry takes it.

His fingers are strong and sure and soft. 

The coffee maker gurgles.

The oven hums.

The world is quiet.

Then there’s the pounding of feet on the stairs, and a million voices, and the moment is lost.

— 

The cinnamon rolls have to be closely watched, with many greedy fingers ready to steal swipes of icing. 

Harry brings them out on a big plate in the shape of a Christmas tree and places it on the coffee table. He sits on a sofa cushion on the floor in the middle of the room, his own coffee in hand. 

Liam and Zayn sit snuggled so close together they could be connected. Greg sits, sleepy and quiet, his coffee directly under his nose. Lewis sits with his legs spread wide, taking up the majority of the sofa next to Greg, and Niall sits on the arm, his feet on the cushion, his toes under Lewis’ thigh.

Louis sits in the space next to Liam, with the missing back cushion, and tucks his feet under him. 

“So,” Harry says. “Christmas movie? We have _Elf,_ _It’s A Wonderful Life, Arthur Christmas, Love Actually, Charlie Brown…”_

“Actually,” Zayn says.

_ “Love Actually?” _ Greg asks. “Again?”

“No, not  _ Love Actually,” _ Zayn says. 

“We’ve seen them all at least once,” Niall says. “Might as well watch it again.”

“It  _ is _ Harry’s favourite,” Louis adds.

“Right, yeah, no,” Zayn says, sounding frustrated. “I meant before that. I have gifts.”

“You have  _ gifts?” _ Lewis asks, leaning forward, suddenly alert.

Liam looks very proud.

“They’re not big,” Zayn says. “Don’t expect much.”

“I expect everything,” Greg says, his eyes alight. “Where are they?”

Zayn reaches beside him, down next to the sofa, and pulls up a gift bag. He starts pulling out wrapped packages, small things, and hands them to Liam to pass around.

They’ve got names on them, neatly scrawled in Zayn’s familiar handwriting. Louis’ is in gold tissue paper, thin and crinkly and heavy.

“Wow,” he says. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well I  _ did,” _ says Zayn, sounding embarrassed. “Please open them while I pretend to be doing something else.”

Everyone starts tearing into the wrapping, with varying levels of grace. Louis tears off the tape and neatly unrolls the wrapping, to reveal…

It’s a hedgehog, a small little palm-sized thing, made out of chain mail, almost like it’s been crocheted out of metal. It’s heavy and cold to the touch and beautiful.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Zayn, it’s gorgeous.”

Zayn is staring at his phone. “Uh-huh,” he says.

Louis looks around. Harry has a frog, the chain mail glinting a metallic green. Niall has what could be a sheep, or a cloud with legs, and Lewis has an octopus which he is delightely shaking to watch the tentacles jiggle about. Greg has a dog which seems to be sitting upright, in a white metal. 

“Jesus,” Greg says. “Is this what you’ve been working on this whole time?

Zayn shrugs. “Maybe,” he says.

“Yes,” says Liam, sounding pleased as punch. “He made me Batman.”

“It needs work,” Zayn mumbles.

Louis holds his hedgehog close to his chest. It’s little spikes are litke the scales of a chain mail vest, but pointed upward. It’s perfect.

“They’re first attempts,” Zayn says. “You don’t have to keep them.”

There are rousing cries of disagreement.

No one puts down the animals as they start the movie  _ (Love Actually). _

Zayn looks pleased.

— 

Seven people in a house on Christmas day is a lot.

In the late afternoon Louis escapes to the porch, because even he needs a moment of peace to hear himself think now and again. 

The wingback chairs are covered in snow, but it’s the light fluffy kind he can dust off. He’s brought blankets out with him, and he wraps himself up in them, in lieu of a coat. 

The snow has finally stopped, but the white Christmas is here to stay. He breathes in the crisp air and breathes out and enjoys the silence. 

The silence is broken very quickly but the sound of the door opening. 

Louis steels himself for the sound of many feet and voices, but only one person appears.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Harry says. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his middle, although he’s clearly still not put anything on his legs.

“Of course not,” Louis rushes to say, dusting the snow off the other wingback.

“It’s just so loud,” Harry says. “They’re starting a game of Catan.

“You mean a third game of Catan?”

“Exactly.”

Harry settles into the second chair, wrapping himself in his blankets just like Louis.

They’re silent for a while, enjoying the peace. Louis wants so badly to reach out, to brush Harry’s curls behind his ear.

“It was really nice of you,” Harry says eventually. “To stay.”

“I can’t imagine having left,” Louis says. 

“Would you have for any of us?” Harry asks.

Louis pauses. “I mean,” he says. “I think I would’ve stayed no matter who it was.” He thinks. “But also… especially because it was you.”

He holds his breath. Harry sits and stares out at the landscape.. A car drives by, disturbing the silence.

“Would you consider,” Harry hedges eventually, “Would you consider the possibility of… going somehwere with me? When the holidays are over?”

“Going somewhere?” Louis asks, his heart hammering.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “On purpose. The two of us.”

“Like… a date?”

Harry nods vigorously. He doesn’t look at Louis. 

“I’d love to,” Louis says. “I’d do that any day you wanted to.”

Harry nods again, not as vigorously this time. “Okay,” he says. “I’d like that.”

“I would too.”

Louis’ face is very warm suddenly, for how cold it is out here.

He reaches out his hand and puts it on the arm of Harry’s chair.

Harry reaches out his hand and puts it on top of Louis’.

Louis could just about melt.

He feels like the world stops but also like the world starts and like everything is perfect and nothing could ever be better, and the heat of Harry’s palm is warming every part of his body, like magic. Like something he will never forget.

Then there is a deafening crash from inside, and yelling, and the stomping of feet, and someone throws the door oen with a slam. 

“Guys!” Lewis yells. “The ceiling’s fallen into the living room!”

Louis tumbles to his feet and helps Harry up and they both run in, to see a large amount of debris in the middle of the living room, and a hole up to the hallway above.

There’s a box in the middle of the debris, looking ancient and dusty, just the size of the box of recipe cards Louis remembers his mum keeping.

The coffee table is in pieces and everything is a mess, but Louis goes to pick up the box. On the front is a peeling label that reads,

_ Letters from Christopher S.  _

**Author's Note:**

> There is a fic post [HERE](https://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/636098461311369216/you-dont-have-to-be-lonely-this-christmas) if you are interested in giving me a reblog!


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